Fortress of Evil
by dtill359
Summary: Earth has been at peace for over a year, but a new threat looms on the horizon. Zordar, ruler of the Cometine worldship Gatlantis has his sights set on Earth, and it will take a force greater than anything the Argo's crew has ever seen to stop him. AU. "The Sands of Time Are Sinking", Book 3.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Aboard the Cometine worldship _Gatlantis_ , a life-monitor shrilled, flat lined.

"There's nothing more I can do," said the physician and covered the body in a white sheet. He killed the alarm, washed the blood from his gloved hands and began to reset the surgical suite.

"It was… a hope," said Prince Zordar from the observation loft. "Jettison the remains."

The physician bowed. "Yes, lord."

"See to it no one discovers this." Zordar furrowed snowy brows. "Better the universe believes he died months ago."

"Discretion… will be my priority."

Zordar severed the audio link to the operating theatre below.

"Such mediocrity. _Gatlantis_ deserves better, Father." Princess Invidia scoffed.

"Miracles are not ours to make," said Zordar.

"But they _should_ be," Invidia bit back. "Isn't that why we search the universe?" She swept long, black hair over her shoulder and perched a hand on one hip. Her pale, white skin shone against Zordar's green hue, and steely black eyes bored into the doctor as he cleared the last of his instruments.

"Do not utter such untoward ambitions outside my chambers, child," Zordar growled.

"But Sabera–"

"–is the Prime Minister," Zordar said.

"And your consort," Invidia snorted.

"Sabera is my second-in-command, and she may do as she sees fit." Zordar grabbed Invidia's arm. "You, however, will do as I say."

Invidia twisted from his grip. "Sabera abuses your trust, Father. Even now, she takes us to the Diviner's door."

"Your mother's stories cankered your will," he snapped. "The Diviner's art is a myth."

"But the evidence–"

"–is less than circumstantial."

Invidia crossed her arms as the physician steered the corpse into the hall. "You once feared her too."

"But now I understand." When the surgeon disappeared, Zordar continued, "To seek power is to seek conflict. We seek the ultimate power—creation. Even if the Diviner stands in our way, we will prevail. We are unstoppable."

"You sound like Grandfather." Invidia rolled her eyes.

"He is right," Zordar retorted. " _Gatlantis_ will conquer the universe. We've taken hundreds of worlds, daughter. Now, we conquer the crowning gem."

Invidia stared into the empty suite. A trail of blood still stained the table. "Origin…" she whispered. "How do you know its location?"

"Our dead charge brought information. Among his ship's records, we found it…"

"Will the Diviner not intervene?" said Invidia as a maintenance tech scrubbed the bloody table.

"Those stories," Zordar scoffed. "The conjurings of terror-muddled minds. None have dared breathe the Diviner's name in a century. No woman—no matter her power—can hinder us! That superstition should have died long ago." Zordar raised a fist. "You will not stop us!" he bellowed. "Our ancestors wandered the stars. Now, we take back our birth-world—our rightful inheritance!"

Invidia paled. "Father, someone will hear–"

"Know this, Diviner," Zordar snarled and approached the glass pane, one hand clenched around the other. "I will take what is mine, and if any oppose me, I will destroy them… even you, Trelaina of Telezart."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Editing pass six completed on 9/16/2019


	2. Episode 1: On Angels' Wings

**Episode 1: On Angels' Wings**

Brilliant sparks danced through the crystal caverns. The waves' whispers filled the lonely mountain as Trelaina's hazel eyes fixed on each rolling crest. Her abode—a tiny pod of clear, thick glass—was her haven, her castle in the wastelands. She stood at its door.

Today, no earthquakes disturbed the underground lake.

 _You once teemed with people from a host of worlds… housed the genetics capitol of the universe…_ Trelaina took a step onto the stairs' top crystal step. _Until the calamity…_

 _Father… you took me when I was abandoned—when my own mother left me. Holden Krom. You loved me, cared for me, taught me. You were so simple, but kind._ She fingered the silver ring that adorned her right hand.

 _If only Telezart could stand beautiful and whole again._

Tears burned her eyes. _It's my fault._ I _caused this. Father, you tried to tell me otherwise—to your last breath… but I know the truth._ _So normal… these hands._ She held them up. _Except that persistent glow._ The surrounding shine dimmed but refused to fade.

 _I didn't ask for this power._ She folded her pale hands. _It wasn't your fault, Father. I could never blame you for what you did. You couldn't know what would come of your good-willed efforts to lengthen my life…_

She went inside.

 _How long will I linger, Shaddai*…? Though decades pass, the mirror still shows the same young face. I am lonely, and though Your presence gives me comfort and hope that someday this curse might be another's blessing… death still beckons… In my weakness, I would heed its call._

She crossed the room and sat. The monitoring station hummed alive at her touch, and she scanned new images. _Shaddai placed such beauty in the heavens._ A neighboring planet neared its apsis, and one of Telezart's moons waxed full.

In wonder, she lost herself in the beauty of the heavens. Her glow brightened, and her long hair rose from the floor to swirl golden in the sizzling air. She extended the station's scanning range beyond Telezart's system and glimpsed other worlds, stars, galaxies. New discoveries formed neat rows and floated to either side of the main projection.

She gave the list a glance as it grew. _Nebulae, an asteroid field, two new black holes, and_ –

Trelaina's glow filled the pod in a blinding flash. "Oh, Shaddai… let it not be–Not again!" Tears trailed to her chin and dripped on the console. "Haven't you taken enough?" she choked at the newest anomaly—a visitor whose return she'd long dreaded. It stared at her through the observation panel, a blazing white eye, swirling thick with malice. "Would you come again to destroy my planet? Only this dead husk remains because of you!"

She examined the entry, and her breath checked. "No—no—not Origin! You cannot take her!" Toward heaven she pleaded, "Shaddai! Give me a way to stop this evil." A com console sat in disuse nearby. "They are too far to hear me. Take my warning to Origin. Fend off this atrocity. It must not take them as it took my world a century past." She slid to her knees as the glowing orbs hanging from her long sleeves floated just above the floor.

"Daughter of the promise," a voice rumbled through her. "Shaddai hears your call." Beside the console, bathed in white, a magnificent broadsword slung at his hip, stood a stranger.

"Who… are you?" She drew back, attention on the sheathed blade.

"I am a messenger," he said. "My name is Arkan." His hand rested on the sword hilt. "Only those who oppose Shaddai's will need fear me." His eyes burned with light.

"You… have a message for me?"

"No. I am to be a messenger _for_ you. Shaddai sees what is to come. My brother Arach and I will carry your warning."

"You are of… Shaddai's Realm*…" She bowed in awe. "I do not deserve such a visitation."

"Raise your head, child of the promise. I warrant not your worship. The universe quakes. Its Maker's return draws nigh," said Arkan. "But Origin's prophesied rebirth will not come by the hands of those who took Telezart."

A second stranger appeared and whispered to Arkan before he took a step back and bowed to Trelaina.

"This is Arach, the brother of whom I spoke." He nodded to Arach. "I must warn you, Trelaina. We will bring this portent of doom to Origin, but her champions must come here and claim your full message themselves."

"I don't understand," Trelaina said. "Telling them is simpler."

"It is." Arkan nodded. "But Shaddai knows the hearts of all who will join this fight, and they must make this journey. Destruction lurks beyond your borders." Arkan held out a hand, and Trelaina took it. He pulled her up with ease. "Stand ready, Diviner. Face the future with courage and hold Shaddai's hope in your heart." He stepped back.

Trelaina stood tall and nodded. "I await Origin's champions. When will they arrive?"

"In time," Arkan said. "In time."

* * *

 _Yunagi,_ last of the fifteen escort ships assigned to Earth's second cargo fleet trailed after the convoy. Derek Wildstar, its captain, sat on the bridge, arms folded, eyes glazed with memory.

 _Has it really been a year since the Cosmo DNA activated? Earth is restored, in-system bases rebuilt. Cargo fleets run resources to Earth more often than I can track._

 _It's been a long year._ He tapped his chair arm. Stale air recycled through _Yunagi'_ s tiny bridge. _I want to go home. It doesn't help that everyone's still thinking about the trip to Iscandar. Not a dull moment during_ that _trip. But there aren't any more Gamilons to fend off, no stellar phenomena to gawk at, no alien Gates to trek_ — _though I can't say I'm disappointed about that last one._

 _When we get back, I'm never leaving home again. It was bad enough they drafted us a week after we came back from Iscandar, but to watch mining bots load and unload cargo is brain-numbing._ Derek propped his chin on one fist. _The reunion can't come soon enough._ He scanned the small bridge. Fellow Star Force members Chris Eager, Homer Glitchman and Jordan Dashell—Dash as everyone called him—tended their stations. Each one showcased varying stages of boredom.

For the twenty-eighth time Derek checked the convoy's progress. _Getting close._ _Half a day from Earth._ He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. _What does it look like now…? No more radiation, no more dry sea-beds. Is it green again? That red sky, has it faded to blue yet?_

Derek closed his eyes, and Nova's face appeared. _Your letters are the only sparks of color in this dull trip. Of course, no video calls for us. Budget was too low._ Derek flipped to her last message and opened the picture again. Nova leaned into the image frame and waved as a reconstructed EDF Headquarters building filled the background.

 _I hope you've gotten my replies._ Derek shifted in his seat as he reread the last line of her note. "What are you living for?" He sighed and shook his head. _I don't know the answer to that anymore, Nova…_

Everything lurched, and the chair arm bit into Derek's side. "What was that?" he demanded.

"Shots to port!" Eager's freckled face housed more confusion than fear.

"Friendly fire?

"Don't know," Eager replied. "Radar's got patches, but no solid images."

 _Yunagi_ jolted again.

"Something's out there," Derek hissed as the hair on his arms and neck prickled. "Warn the fleet."

"I can't get through," Homer said. "Signal's jammed."

"Great," Derek growled. "Keep trying."

"I can't get a target lock," said Dash. "It's moving too fast."

"Then fire manually."

"I'm trying! It flickers like it's traveling in a warp field," Dash said.

"Eager, can you get video?" Derek flipped open a small viewscreen, and the feed blinked on. He almost missed the passing gray-green streak. "Slow it down." The clip restarted, but the crawling image was just as indecipherable. "Try frame by frame." A blurry smear proved the only salvageable image. "Get us closer to the rest of the fleet." Derek growled under his breath. "I wish we had _Argo_ 's specialized radar."

"Yeah," Eager huffed. "This would be over by now if we had her instead of this tin can." He smacked his console as one of the panels shorted, then blinked on again. "Her upgrades could've waited." He checked the sensors and shook his head. "It's gone."

"Try the fleet again," said Derek.

"Got them," Homer said. "This is _Yunagi_. We've–" The com panel crackled, sputtered, and died; the bridge lights flashed out, replaced by emergency power's crimson cast.

"What…?" Derek floated an inch out of this chair. His seat harness held him down in the temporary absence of artificial gravity.

"Power surge," Eager supplied.

"Homer?" Derek called. "Homer, you okay?" When he didn't respond, Derek unclipped his harness and pushed toward the com console. "Hey." He shook the other officer. "Homer?"

"Wha…? What?" Homer blinked hard and shook his head.

"You okay? You spaced out," Derek said.

"Uh… Yeah—yeah, fine. I'm fine," he stuttered.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Homer studied his dark station.

The power flickered on, and Derek's boots settled to the deck with a clunk. "Let's catch up to the fleet."

* * *

Nova sat with the rest of Commander Singleton's staff. Her crisp, white uniform shone in the soft morning light.

Far below the gathered crowd, the Earth Defense Force's new flagship sat ready for take-off. It was gigantic, bigger than the _Argo_. Twin wave-motion guns, like yawning wolves, formed giant red vortexes to either side of the ship's proud bow.

She half-listened as the President of the Assembly of Nations droned.

 _I wish the reunion tomorrow was aboard_ Argo… _She's like a second home to everyone._ Nova smiled to herself. _Derek's coming back! And Homer, and Mark, and everyone else._ She folded her hands. _In his letters, Derek seems fine, but I won't trust that until I see him._

 _If only I'd written more…_ She covered a yawn. _Too many long hours. Get up, go to work, get home, work at home, sleep, work. What I'd give for a day off. No meetings or dinners, or formal affairs._

Government leaders from around the globe sat nearby, and the Commander sat two seats down, separated from her by his granddaughter Wendy, and his overenthusiastic adjunct, General Stone.

Nova jumped, startled, as glass shattered.

"We christen this ship, _Andromeda_." The President concluded his speech as the crowd rose and cheered.

Pieces of broken champagne bottle sprinkled the long runway. Nova stood and applauded with the rest of the staff. Everyone else was still cheering when a stubborn bright spot invaded her vision. She rubbed tired eyes, but the spot grew into a blinding curtain.

A woman, hair the color of spring daffodils knelt with folded hands. Her alabaster skin glowed ethereal, as pleading hazel eyes and a sea-colored dress reminded Nova of Starsha of Iscandar, but there was something different about this woman.

 _"Board the_ Argo _,"_ said the stranger.

"I don't understand," Nova replied.

 _"Board the_ Argo _,"_ the woman repeated.

 _Andromeda's_ engines roared and shattered the phantom.

As the gathered thousands watched _Andromeda_ lift off on its maiden voyage, a sense of urgency gripped Nova. _Who is she? What did she mean?_

* * *

"Almost there," Derek said hours after their mystery encounter. "How're radio repairs?"

"Too slow," Homer muttered as he fiddled under the panel. "There's no way I can fix this without help—and spare parts. Half these elements are toast." He tossed out another blackened piece. It clanked into a pile of soot and stank of smoke.

"Incoming!" Eager yelped.

"Hey!" Homer grabbed the console to keep from crashing into the bulkhead as _Yunagi_ careened to starboard.

A gigantic ship raced into view and just scraped past them.

"What _was_ that?" Eager said.

"The new flagship," Derek said. " _Andromeda_."

"That monstrosity?" Dash asked. "How did they scrounge a crew?"

"There isn't much of one… They automated all its systems." Derek noted the men's surprise. "Nova told me about it. That's one reason for ferrying so many extra resources to Earth—to subsidize building that thing."

"If we'd taken a ship like that to Iscandar we could've beaten Gamilon no problem," said Dash.

"Don't be so sure," Derek cautioned. " _Andromeda_ …" He sat with a sigh. Cold, gray deck plates stared at him. "It… has no soul… The _Argo_ —she was our home, our friend. When I board her, I feel…"

"Like part of her," Homer finished. "We all feel that way, Wildstar. And we wouldn't trade that—even if someone tried to make us."

* * *

"Hey, wait up!" EDF pilot Feria Noble called after Nova as her friend raced through the crowded space-port. "They know we're coming. They won't die if they have to wait two seconds." She caught up as Nova hit traffic near a baggage terminal.

"It's been almost a year, Feria. Twelve _months_." Nova skirted past two people approaching the baggage claim.

Feria wrapped her flight jacket closer and slipped between a burly American and a fellow Korean.

Ahead, Nova dodged a rolling suitcase, and a crowd of old men and women swarmed past. Each one sported a hat and shirt plastered with pictures of tourist attractions.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Feria," Nova called to her.

"I don't know, wander off—get kidnapped again," Feria quipped as she brushed by two girls, engrossed in taking pictures of themselves. _Probably for the re-established net._ She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Kids these days." Then to Nova she said, "Seriously, slow down. You'll end up on your face. They won't leave without us. _We_ have the car, remember?"

Nova pushed ahead but stopped when she broke through a wall of businessmen.

Feria arrived just as Derek stepped off the transport, Homer on his heels.

"Over here!" Nova waved to them. "Derek! Homer!"

Derek's eyes brightened, and he rushed over. "Nova!"

Homer followed, pace more measured.

"You got here fast," Derek said.

Feria slipped beside Nova. "She's a crazy driver. Don't let her take you anywhere or you'll regret it." A sharp elbow jarred her ribs. "Hey! It's true, and you know it."

"Feria." Derek smiled. "Good to see you too. Airbase still standing?"

"Last night it was," she replied. "Nova says your run was a snooze-fest."

Derek avoided her gaze. "With no Gamilon threat, escort ships are pretty dull…"

"What about you, Homer?" Feria asked. "Anything exciting happen?"

"Uh…" He shoved his hands in his pockets and studied a bright image on a nearby advertising space. "Not much…"

"Let's get to _The Harbor_. Our reservation's in twenty minutes." Nova beckoned everyone toward the garage.

"We'll never make that," Derek protested as they waded through the crowd.

"We will if I'm driving." Nova slung her keys around her finger, a mischievous smile on her face.

Feria groaned.

* * *

"You weren't kidding," Derek whispered to Feria as he exited the car.

"Told you," she muttered back.

"Good thing there aren't posted speed limits around here yet," said Derek. "We'd be explaining to public safety why we're going thirty over."

Feria laughed as she stepped into the crowded restaurant just behind Derek.

"Forrester—party of four," Nova told the hostess.

"This way, please." The young woman ushered them to a window table. "Order when you're ready," she said as the four took their seats, Derek and Nova nearest the window.

Everyone scrolled through the holographic menu and made their selections. Ten minutes later, their food arrived.

Through a mouthful of decked-out cheeseburger, Feria said, "Nothing like _Harbor_ food."

"I'm glad they reopened it," said Nova.

Homer picked at his chicken parmesan and vegetables.

Derek stuffed a bite of Japanese curry in his mouth but hesitated before he took a second.

"What's the matter?" Nova asked.

"Huh?" Derek looked up from his plate.

"Your face. And you're not eating—what's wrong?"

He looked away.

"It's the crowd, isn't it? I should have picked a smaller place." Nova sighed.

"It's not that," Derek muttered.

Nova looked at him perplexed.

"I… don't know if I should talk about it…" He set his chopsticks on the edge of his plate.

"It can't be all _that_ terrible," Feria said.

Derek's eyes darkened.

"Okay, it _can_ ," she corrected.

Derek looked from Feria to Nova. "On the way home… a ship we couldn't identify attacked _Yunagi_. Radar, sensors, neither one could get a good look at it. It was too fast."

"Does Commander Singleton know?" Nova said.

Derek nodded. "We reported it the second we landed. We'd have done it sooner, but something knocked out our radio."

"That ship?" said Feria.

"Homer didn't think so, but what else could it be? Whatever it was didn't just turn off the radio, it fried its guts. Homer pulled charred pieces out of the console all the way back to Earth."

"You have anything to add to this?" Feria asked Homer.

He pushed his chicken away, and his fork clinked the plate as his hand shook.

"Spill, Glitchman." Feria pulled the toothpick out of her half-eaten burger and pointed it at Homer.

"When the radio failed…" Homer glanced at Derek. "I saw… something."

"Another ship?" Derek sat up straighter. "You didn't say anything back—"

"Not outside." Homer shook his head. "In my head… Like a—a—"

"Vision…?" Nova whispered, eyes wide.

Feria leaned back in her seat, mouth open. "When did you see it?"

"Right when the radio died. We were about half an hour from Earth," Homer said.

Nova fidgeted.

"You saw her, didn't you?" Feria said. "That woman?"

"You too?" Nova asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't tell me you'd seen anything either," Feria defended.

Nova hung her head. "I thought I was seeing things—all the stress lately… I thought it was just… not enough sleep. Derek, did you see her?"

Wildstar picked up his chopsticks and pushed a clump of rice toward a carrot. "No… I didn't…"

* * *

 **Episode 1: Notes**

* Origin–Earth

* Shaddai–a name used here of God the Father

* Shaddai's Realm-Heaven; the place where God the Father dwells

Editing pass five completed on 9/17/2019

 **Author's Note:**

Great to see so many returning readers. Feel free to fave/follow/review as you see fit.

Happy reading and writing,

*dtill359


	3. Episode 2: As a Spark

**Episode 2: As a Spark**

Red and orange tones lit the evening sky as Dr. Sado Sane sat cross-legged atop Heroes' Hill. The thirty-foot carbon fiber statue of Captain Abraham Avatar stood like a guardian over the city below. Sado's old friend's likeness stood tall, uniform pressed and neat, eyes firm. And Sado could have sworn a smile hinted on the old man's stone-like face, but the Doctor didn't feel much like smiling today. He took another gulp of sake and wiped his nose. "Are we the only ones who remember, Abraham?" He pushed up his glasses. "It's been a year… Have they forgotten so soon?"

A chill wind swept a leaf over the cobblestones. Sado caught it. The dead, brown husk crumbled in his hand. As the pieces floated away, there was a gentle pat on his sleeve.

"Mimi, you're sad too…?" Sado scratched the tabby cat's cheek and her whiskers flicked at his touch. He swiped a noodle from his discarded plate. Mimi ate it in two bites and asked for another with a soft meow. Sado gave her two more noodles.

He shifted on the hard ground. His bones creaked, and a dull ache throbbed in his lower back. He sat straight and closed his eyes as he gripped the sake bottle tighter. "I'm surprised you didn't give out any sooner, you old coot. But you always were stubborn." Sado chuckled and muttered a phrase the captain kept on his cabin wall, "By faith, Abraham…" He shook his head. "I suppose that fit you to the last."

Mimi scurried behind Sado at the shuffle of hurried footsteps.

Stephen Sandor, Abraham's former executive officer crested the hill. Eighty-seven men and women trailed after him, their EDF blues crisp.

Sado's heart rose at the sight of Adam, Abraham's son, as the young man gave his father's monument a sad smile. Adam approached the headstones ringing the statue and laid a single, white rose on his father's grave.

As each crew-member arrived, Sado's heart lightened. Everyone stationed Earthside, or home on leave was present—with a few exceptions. They crowned each of their fallen friends' gravestones with flowered wreaths. Sado swiped his eyes again as he followed the loose semi-circle of headstones from one side of the statue to the other. Every name brought memories—images. He knew all their faces, their voices. Some died under his care; others he found long after their last breath, and some… the cold void of space took.

 _So many lives snuffed out by the horrors of war…_

"Sorry we're late!" Derek Wildstar burst through the crowd; Miss Forrester, Miss Noble and Mr. Glitchman appeared just behind him.

Sado chuckled as Wildstar darted through the group and greeted everyone.

"Mark!" Derek quickly found _Argo'_ s former helmsman and took his offered hand. "It's been too long! How's fleet one?"

"Boring," Mark replied. "How was two?"

"Same." Derek clapped his friend's shoulder. "Maybe it'll get better since we're home again."

Sado hauled himself up, and Mimi crept out to see the crowd. She sat, tail curled around clean paws, nose in the air.

"Star Force, attention!" Sado called over the din.

Each division formed an ordered line, officers at the head. Every eye was on the monument. No one spoke as they remembered the courage of the man who led them 296,000 light-years, only to pass away just as they re-entered Earth-space.

"We speak for everyone when we say, Thank you, for everything you did, Captain. The people of Earth owe you their lives." Sado snapped a salute.

A cold wind rushed through the courtyard as every member of the Star Force gave their honored mentor a fist-to-heart salute.

The last shades of evening faded into night as the sun set, leaving echoes of color in the darkened sky.

* * *

Two stone benches framed the courtyard entrance, and a dozen lanterns surrounded it. Their glow masked the stars, but the distant city lights still cut through the haze.

Nova craned to view the rest of the group. Everyone sat in loose circles on the cobblestones as they shared food and stories. She tapped Feria's arm. "I'll be right back."

Her friend, in the middle of talking with Homer, nodded and kept talking as Nova slipped away.

She circled the graves. Every name brought back a memory, and her eyes stung as she scanned the headstones.

Miles away, the city gleamed. _No one would guess by looking at it how many arguments_ — _fights_ — _still break out every day._ She recalled the four countries called into the Assembly of Nations just this week. Collapsed governments, riots, terrorism… "What a selfish world…" she whispered. "Is this what we fought so hard to restore?"

She passed two more headstones and knelt. Her hand trembled as she touched the grave. The lovely face etched in the stone smiled at her, and she smoothed unsteady fingers over it. "Astra of Iscandar… I wish I'd met you." A tear dripped onto the cold stone. "I'm so sorry Earth forgot your sacrifice so soon. Your sister didn't want this. She offered us a new life—one we desperately needed. But…" She bowed her head, face in her hands. Andromeda _is only the first. There will be more, with firepower so heavy they could obliterate a moon._

She shivered in the cold night air and rubbed her frozen nose.

"I hope… we don't waste our second chance…" she said to Astra's likeness.

"Hey."

Nova flinched as Derek knelt beside her.

"Hey." She folded her hands in her lap.

"She was brave—to do what she did." Derek touched Astra's grave. "Don't know that I could have done it—leave home like that on a hope."

"Derek…" Nova studied his troubled brown eyes. "Are you all right?"

He stared at the headstone. "You—Feria, Homer… all had the same vision… But I didn't."

Nova touched his shoulder. "I can't say why we saw it, and I don't know what it meant," she whispered, "but it doesn't matter. You'll do what's right—no matter what. We're the Star Force. What happens to one affects the rest." She nodded to the crowded courtyard. "We face everything, good times and bad, together."

"Yeah." Derek nodded. "We do…"

Nova got up and dusted off her dress. She caught a flicker of uncertainty in Derek's eyes. "Come sit with Feria, Homer and me."

As Derek settled between Nova and Homer, Royster leaned over from the next circle. "Is it true? Did _Yunagi_ really take fire from a mystery ship?"

"Neville, this isn't the time–" Nova began.

"No, it's okay." Derek gave her a reassuring glance. "Radar couldn't get a clear image. It was too fast. And… ever since, I can't shake this weird feeling something isn't right."

Sweat beaded on Royster's forehead, and he pulled his jacket tighter.

"And the attack on _Yunagi_ isn't all," Sandor said from beside Royster. The former XO's words silenced all other conversation, and every eye focused on him. "During _Andromeda_ 's christening, I was onboard _Argo_. Orion and I listened to the broadcast while we worked on the refit. Just as the President finished his remarks, I saw… a woman. She told me to board _Argo_."

A rush of murmurs rippled through the group.

"I saw it too," said a woman from the science division.

"So did I." A member of the engineering corps raised his hand.

Several dozen others, including Orion, also confessed.

Derek's face roiled with questions.

"We'll figure out what's–" Nova began, but an engine's roar drowned her reassurance, and a swarm of lights thundered overhead. Her hair whipped her face with the ship's stiff breeze. " _Andromeda_ 's back from its test run."

Eager, who sat near the group's outskirts, leapt to his feet and shook his fist at the ship. "Learn how to stay in your lane, idiots!"

Dash pulled him back down.

* * *

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets as he stepped into Sandor's lab, nestled in EDF Headquarters' sublevels. Twenty-eight high-resolution displays covered the walls and streamed endless cascades of data. A wall-length computer station complemented them. "How's the work on the _Argo_ coming, Sandor?"

"I've analyzed the data from _Yunagi_." Sandor pointed to the screen in front of him.

"Yeah, among other things," Derek said as he watched suit-cam footage from their last year's encounter with _Shambleau_ , a ship nearly two millennia old. Images and text from the tomb on Jupiter's floating continent followed. Derek shuddered at the next data set—information from the reactivated jump Gate control center.

"I haven't gotten any useful information from the logs," Sandor said. "But this was a productive year. I've incorporated my findings into _Argo_ 's refit work. However," his eyes darkened, "the council… voted to redirect my upgrades. They want a far more extensive refit than I'd planned. They're redesigning the entire ship—to make it just like the _Andromeda_."

"What?!" Heat rose in Derek's chest. "They can't do that! What about the work you've already done?"

"They're keeping that, but they want everything channeled into a centralized computer network. Reduce the crew's jobs to button-pushing."

"I won't let that happen," Derek growled. He stormed out of the lab and up twelve floors to Commander Singleton's office.

"You can't go in there!" General Stone growled and stepped into Derek's path.

"Yes, I can." Derek countered through gritted teeth as he shoved past the stern man and barged into the office. "Commander, I demand to know what—Captain… Gideon?" Derek stopped short before his old academy instructor who stood by Singleton's desk.

Gideon handed a tablet to the Commander.

Derek took one step forward. "What are you doing here?"

"I have important business to discuss concerning my ship, the _Andromeda_. What are _you_ doing here, Wildstar?" the gray-headed captain challenged. He narrowed his eyes at Derek from beneath his hat brim.

"I need to talk to the Commander alone," Derek insisted.

Gideon didn't budge.

Singleton eyed Derek. "Wildstar, whatever you have to say, say it. I don't have time for this."

"Why is the council gutting the _Argo_ like scrapped trash?" Derek fumed. "It isn't just a machine, Commander. She's—She's a good friend. One who deserves better than this."

"It was the council's decision," Singleton replied. "We can't keep one oddball ship just to please its old crew. Personnel must be interchangeable. The _Argo_ 's overhaul is necessary."

"But, Commander–"

"They've decided, Wildstar."

* * *

The old underground EDF complex lay dark, unused since its days of service during the war with Gamilon. Its operations room filled with thick tension as an old bulb flickered and popped.

"They're going to do it," Derek bristled, "make her like that—thing." He stood in a circle with the _Argo_ 's other former bridge officers.

Shadows reached for the group as two other lights winked out. A third cracked as the aged filament broke.

"I've tried to convince them not to—many times," Sandor said. "But they insist on the changes. They said if I wouldn't do it, they'd replace me with someone who would. I've stalled them for months."

Nova, Eager, Dash and Homer gave Sandor sober nods.

"The council won't delay much longer," Sandor added.

"Do what you can." Derek kicked a rock toward the far corner. "I'll think of something…" He crossed his arms as the flood of rage ebbed, replaced by despair. He clenched his jaw so hard the side of his face ached. The _Argo_ was the only home he had left. She represented a family he loved, and the whims of stodgy old men wouldn't part him from that.

"Ah… I thought you might be here."

Derek took a startled step back when Commander Singleton entered.

"I come here sometimes too, when I need to think," said Singleton. The Commander stood in the center of the officers' circle. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head. " _Argo_ 's crew reassignments are ready. You'll receive them by the end of the week—before Sandor finishes his refit."

"They can't do that!" Dread bit Derek's throat. "We're a unit—we work _together._ The _Argo_ is our ship. We can't abandon her."

"I'm sorry." Singleton turned away. "I know what she means to you, but we don't have room for blind sentiment anymore. It's time she merges with the fleet." Singleton kept his eyes on the floor as he left.

"First, they want to take our ship. Now, they want to separate us. What's next?" Derek paced the room. "We have to stop this."

"It will take moving heaven and earth to sway the council," Sandor said. "And more than that to overrule their ultimatum."

* * *

Derek poured water around the base of the little plant sitting atop the nearby table. Its leaves rustled, and he jumped at the noise. Queen Starsha's gift had oddities he still wasn't used to. He sighed and set the empty cup on the table. As he sank into the plush chair by the window he rubbed tired eyes.

Outside, night gathered. Lightning flashed, followed by thunder's soft roll. Derek leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, and listened as rain pattered against the window.

When Earth's restoration began, rain fell for months—a gentle drizzle, Nova said.

Derek propped up one leg and folded his hands.

Three days. Still no reassignment. The council's injustice irked him. He needed time—to rest, settle.

Derek's comm buzzed. A message from Sandor. "Come to the lab."

Puzzled, Derek rose, pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys.

* * *

When he arrived at the lab, Derek shook the rain off his jacket, and swiped wet hair out of his eyes. "What is it, Sandor?" he said as he hung the jacket on a hook by the door.

The scientist stared at footage of distance space. Sandor swallowed hard. "Look at this."

The man's tone made Derek's stomach knot.

"We thought it was just a quasar," Sandor said, pointing at a white sphere on the screen. "But it isn't… Here." Sandor magnified the image.

"That's—Is that a comet? It's huge." Derek leaned forward. The stormy white eye glared at him as the comet swirled larger and larger, seeming to come out of the screen. He couldn't move. A dry rasp scorched his throat. Then the lights died.

A giant white spot burned in Derek's vision. He struggled to breathe as black walls threatened to crush him. _Got to get out!_ Derek stumbled through the darkness. The door. He forced it open, hands shaking.

"Secondary power's activating," Sandor said. But to Derek it was a faraway echo.

Emergency stairs. Derek fumbled to catch the first upward step. Two floors, then he burst into the cool night air. Hands on his knees, he leaned over and choked. A cough rattled through him and threatened to bring his dinner with it. Cold sweat soaked his collar.

He shrank away from the building. Tripped. The white comet stalked him. With each blink, phantom vision formed the comet eye in the dark, open doorway. It reached for him with grasping white talons, and the eye yawned, an endless maw.

Screeches pierced the night. They tore Derek from one terror and threw him into another. The ground shook as, three blocks over, two trains plowed together with ear-splitting clamor, and an explosion shredded the suspended railway tubes.

Sirens wailed. More crashes thundered. The backup power didn't come on.

As Derek searched the sky, he splashed into a puddle and froze. Movement flickered to his right.

Nothing there.

He shuffled back a step.

Again—high up a nearby building.

No. Still nothing.

Five seconds. Seven. Forty-nine.

Sirens multiplied in the distance as EMTs aided crash survivors.

The stars twinkled, oblivious.

A glint of metal! An alien shape peeled away from one building and raced to another. The instant it made contact, it vanished.

Three seconds.

There it was again! It jumped to another building and disappeared.

Thirty more seconds.

It reappeared and whisked into the darkness

Heat rose in Derek's throat; his face tingled. He leaned over and threw up.

* * *

"Yesterday, the power station on the moon exploded," one councilman announced.

Derek sat in an emergency council meeting at the observer's table, Sandor next to him.

"A tragic accident," said another. "Terrible? Yes. But, the work of some malicious enemy as some assert?" The man gestured toward Derek and Sandor. "I don't think so. Even if it was, nothing stands a chance against _Andromeda_."

"May I speak?" Derek stood. "Men and women of the council, I can't believe this was an accident. I didn't get a good look at the ship that attacked mine last week, but I can tell you one thing. It was faster than anything I've ever seen." The council glared at Derek as he continued. "Last night, I saw something else. It moved just like the ship that attacked us, but this one… could hide. It blended into its surroundings so well, I couldn't see it. Everything in me screams this is no coincidence."

"Do you have any proof of that?" Stone demanded from the head of the council table. "You've been under too much stress, young man. You should take some leave. Now, sit down and be quiet. You're here as an observer—at the generosity of the Commander."

Derek sat. He caught Singleton's eye. The old man's gaze held the faint light of sympathy, and a flicker of belief glowed despite the council's doubt.

The rest of the meeting dragged. Derek bit back a hundred remarks as he itched to shake the council to their senses.

Sandor held his tongue, but the tension in his face said he didn't want to.

When Derek tried to think about something else, Nova's voice echoed in his mind. She repeated the words from the woman in her vision, "Board the _Argo_."

 _If only I could, phantom, I would._

* * *

The meeting dispersed, and Derek and Sandor rode the elevator to the ground floor.

"You coming?" Sandor said and pointed to the second sublevel button.

Derek shook his head. "I… need to think." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

After a long, hard look, Sandor nodded. "All right."

The door chimed shut.

Derek wandered to the old underground city. Desolate streets, empty apartment blocks and dark utility buildings spawned memories.

 _It could happen again… We might have to hide in holes, cut through rock and stone to run from the terror above. Even then, I'm sure the council still wouldn't believe anything was wrong._ He shook his head. _I can't let it happen again_ _ _… I just can't!__

Ahead stretched a dim hall. At its end, an old red and gray hull welcomed him. Derek hurried toward it, steps lighter as he approached the _Argo_. She sat in her dry dock, and though her long journey left her with scars, she was beautiful.

"You've had a year to rest, old friend…" he whispered.

Comfortable silence settled around Derek as he climbed the clunky, metal stairs that lead into the ship. He wandered the semi-dark corridors. The familiar smell of metal, old and new, fused to his senses and eased his tight shoulders.

On the observation deck he leaned against the railing, his face reflected in the clear, domed bubble. Nova had stood next to him, in this spot, many times. He hung his head. _I wish you were here now… Nova_ _…_

He sighed and headed for the bridge.

When Derek stepped off the elevator, the air stilled. His old post, the combat chief's station, center seat at the front of the bridge, waited for him. Longing rose, and he stepped toward his console. But halfway there, he stopped. At the back wall, Captain Avatar's chair sat empty.

"I know what has to happen _…_ But can I ask them to do this…?" Derek whispered to the vacant post. "To follow me when I didn't share their vision?"

Soft blips and whistles answered. He whirled, searching the bridge.

"You came." Sandor stepped off the elevator. "I thought you might."

Another man, with white hair and beard, stepped out behind Sandor.

"Orion?" Derek approached the old engineer.

"Aye," the Irishman said. "You're not leaving without me."

"What do you mean?" Derek said as his stomach seized. _How did he know?_

"You're troubled, lad. I was too after the vision. What Sandor's found, what you've seen… There's no other way about it. I've loaded my things. Earth's in danger again. It's up to us to protect her. And if we're wrong… well, I'd rather be thought a fool than sit still while the world crumbles."

With another look toward Captain Avatar's old post, Derek nodded. "I'll contact the rest of the crew."

* * *

 **Notes:**

The title for this episode was taken from Isaiah 1:31

"And the strong shall be as tow, and the maker of it **as a spark** , and they shall both burn together, and none shall quench them."

Editing pass four completed on 9/17/2019


	4. Episode 3: Fainthearted

**Episode 3: Fainthearted**

Snow flurries whispered around Mark's shoes. Above, the statue of Captain Avatar towered over him. The courtyard lights illuminated the quiet darkness. He scuffed the cobblestones, hands in his pockets. Chill air curled around him like a phantom snake, biting through his white turtleneck and thin jacket.

His face stung with each icy flake's touch, but as he stood before the Heroes' Hill memorial, he couldn't bear to leave. Mark pulled out his comm. It weighed in his gloved hand, an anvil set atop parchment. The last message stared at him—from Wildstar. Mark's thumb hovered over the Call button. But doubt kept him from pressing it.

Mark's little brother slipped a hand into his. "It's getting really cold. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah…" Mark pocketed the comm. "Sure, Jordy." With a last, long look at the statue and grave markers, he ushered his brother down the hill to the wide parking area.

City lights glowed below, their vibrant colors lighting up the night. Mark checked the time. _Only twenty-one hundred…_

As Mark pulled out of the parking lot, a ship's engine roared overhead. "Look, Jordy. It's _Andromeda_." He pointed. "She's something, isn't she?"

"I guess." Jordy's eyes never left the row of short trees whizzing past. "The _Argo_ 's better. It beat the Gamilons and saved Earth. The Star Force is so brave. I told everyone at school how great you are. When I grow up, I want to be the _Argo_ 's engineer."

Pride swelled in Mark's chest. "I'm glad you remember, little brother."

"How could I forget?" said Jordy. "The _Argo_ 's a _great_ ship! It's got a big heart. Not like that new ship. It's just a lot of shiny metal and pretty lights. I'm sick of hearing about it. The teachers at school talk about how _Andromeda_ did this, and _Andromeda_ is so great." Jordy stuck out his tongue. "Blech!"

Mark chuckled. "Yeah. I know what you mean." Derek's message bored into his brain again and Mark fought not to pull out his comm to read it again. He fidgeted, but didn't give in.

"The _Argo_ 's my favorite ship," Jordy declared and grinned as he presented the model he'd made last year. He smoothed the perfect hull.

"She's my favorite too," Mark said as they entered the city limits. The road domes warded off snow, and the white streetlights illuminated clean sidewalks and clear gutters.

Mark pulled into the apartment garage and parked.

Jordy flew his model _Argo_ around the passenger's seat, making engine sounds.

A weight settled on Mark's heart as his brother played, heedless of anything that transpired outside the car. Mark reached for his comm. His hand itched to pull it out, but the instant he touched it, Jordy held out the model and gave Mark a toothy smile. "Here. Your turn. You get to be the navigator again."

Mark's heart skipped a beat, but he took the model.

Derek's message remained unanswered.

* * *

"It's twenty-one thirty, Derek," Nova protested as streetlights whipped past. A holographic road marker flashed. "This road leads to the old underground city."

Derek focused on the sparse traffic as he drove Nova's pale-rose pink convertible. "I know."

"Why are we going? No one will be down there. It's late."

"I… need to tell you something." Derek didn't look at her.

"Oh…" Nova whispered. "All right."

The rest of the short drive passed in silence.

Derek clicked the headlights up to high as the streetlamps thinned, growing farther and farther apart. He turned into a familiar complex and swung around to park in front of a building they both couldn't help but recognize, the old Earth Defense Force Headquarters. Derek turned off the car. After two seconds, the headlights flickered and blinked out, leaving them in complete darkness.

"Nova…" Derek forced aside the lump in his throat.

Her warm hand brushed his.

"I… I told everyone else already, but—" He sucked in a hard breath. "I wanted to tell you in person." He took Nova's hand. "I—we—the Star Force… is leaving." Derek waited for the catch in Nova's breath, the surprised gasp.

"I know," she said. "And I'm coming too."

"No!" Derek squeezed her hand.

Nova's in-car comm charger flicked on, casting a dim glow over the open cab.

"I want you here, safe, on Earth," said Derek.

"But that's not where I should be," said Nova, squeezing his hand back. "Every time I think about the woman I saw in that vision, something in me reaches out to her—something I haven't felt since I saw Starsha's message—before we left for Iscandar. I have to go with you—find out what's happening."

"But what about your post—your career?" Derek said.

Old fire surged in Nova's eyes, like embers reignited after a long smolder. "What about it? If doing the right thing means giving it up… then I will." Nova's hand tucked into his, like perfect puzzle pieces. "What's wrong?" Nova gripped Derek's hand a little tighter.

 _I can't lose you again… I can't._ Images of Nova lying unconscious in the _Argo_ 's med bay after being shot in a crossfire seared his memory. "Promise me…" he whispered. "You won't put yourself in danger."

A thin sheen of light from the charger sparkled in her misting eyes. "I can't make that promise." A single tear tracked her cheek, a tiny droplet of light in the darkness.

Derek slowly nodded and touched her warm fingers to his forehead, like a knight swearing fealty to a queen in ages long past. "I won't let anything happen to you this time. Your life… means more to me than—" The rest of the words tangled.

"I know…" Nova whispered as he let go of her hand.

Those two words filled the cab, both a flood of promises, and a world of suffering.

"When do we leave?" she said.

Derek cleared his throat to focus. "Sandor and Orion will have the _Argo_ 's final launch prep done at oh-two-hundred."

"Let's get back," said Nova. "I'll put my things together."

* * *

Commander Charles Singleton logged off his computer for the night. He closed the pristine tablet and tucked it down into the shelf inset in the desk. The cover panel squeaked a little as he pulled it shut and locked it. His desk, the biggest in the building, sprawled twelve feet, nearly half the width of the office. Despite its grandeur, it lay empty except for a panel of communication channel selections and sparse personal trinkets: a picture of his granddaughter, Wendy, and a case displaying medals earned in his younger years.

 _Oh-one-twenty already…_ He stood. Winced. _Why must everything ache with age?_ His arthritis screamed from both knees, lower back, and shoulders. Sweat trickled from his balding head and into his eyes. Though alone, he covered a yawn. _Another meeting at eight hundred._ His eyes drooped at the thought as he rounded the desk and shuffled toward the door and the promise of some sleep at home.

The instant he reached the door, General Stone barreled in. "Stubborn idiots! They're protesting the changes to the ship. I _knew_ they wouldn't accept reassignments!"

"Calm down, Thomas." Charles rubbed his eyes. "Who's protesting?"

"The Star Force," Stone growled. "That insolent pup Wildstar did this—I know it. What are they going to do? Lock themselves in the ship until we give them what they want? Court martial the lot of them!" Stone stormed to the desk and tapped the option allowing him to reach the comm post downstairs. "Tell everyone aboard the _Argo_ to disembark immediately!"

"Yes, sir," said the posted tech.

Charles focused on Stone's words, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears as he returned to the desk and sank into his chair. He retrieved the computer and logged in. A quick check of the _Argo_ 's dry dock security footage showed Stone was right. The ship bustled; men and women flooded aboard. Some examined gun placements, checked the outside hull, tested emergency doors. Charles crossed his arms and leaned into the chair.

When everyone hurried back inside the battleship, its power level spiked.

Stone's face grew redder every second.

The direct call icon on the desk lit up. Stone tapped it after the first blink.

"Commander Singleton," Derek Wildstar's voice filled the office, "and General Stone, we have no intention of leaving the _Argo_. No matter what the council says, these attacks were no coincidence. There's a threat to Earth's safety, and we must stop it."

Charles' fingers dug into his armrest, and Stone's face twisted in an outraged snarl.

"Lock them in!" Stone ordered the night shift tech. "They're not leaving."

* * *

Mark's chair sat empty beside Derek. According to the crew manifest, Mark hadn't checked in yet. _Don't leave me to do this without your help, Venture._ Derek leaned on his console, ears covered, eyes shut. He stole long, slow breaths. _We've got to make it out before they shut us in. We've_ got _to!_

 _Where_ are _you, Mark?_ Derek sat back in his chair. _Who else would I get to fly this ship? No one knows her like you._ He ran through a list of possible replacements, but no confident options rose.

"We need you," he whispered to the empty navigator's seat. "Earth needs you."

* * *

Mark sat on his bed. _One thirty…_ He set his comm aside.

Only Jordy's slow breathing chased away the silence. The boy sprawled across the small room's second bed. One leg jutted from under the covers and hung part-way off the mattress, revealing a socked foot and spaceship print pajamas.

Mark shook his head. Ever since Jordy was old enough to walk, he insisted on followed Mark everywhere. The boy's curiosity and untainted passion challenged Mark more than anything else in life. _If only I could have your faith, little brother._

When Mark and the rest of the Star Force left for Iscandar, Jordy hadn't wavered. He insisted Mark would be back in time and that the Star Force would save the world. And he was right.

Jordy was the _Argo_ 's staunchest fan. He loved the TV documentaries, the models, and every story Mark told. His brother knew the crew list by heart and Mark caught him reciting it occasionally—usually just after some grand story from the Iscandar trip. But the thing Jordy loved most was the ship's engine. A few months ago—when the bulk of the _Argo_ 's original designs became declassified—Mark talked Sandor into getting Jordy some pictures and videos of the running engine.

When the _Argo_ returned, Cosmo DNA in tow, Jordy was only eight. He'd be turning nine next week.

Mark's dark blue EDF uniform hung on his closet door, ready for tomorrow's shift—Earthside. Derek's summons seemed to peer at him from behind the perfectly pressed shirt and pants as if to say, "You know there's something else you need to do."

A maintenance drone swept by outside, scouring the new water and electric systems for problems. It's small, focused light brushed just inside the open blinds. Jordy's prized shard of Iscandarium glinted atop the boy's dresser.

Mark shoved his comm into one wide pocket of his sleep shorts. He picked up the colorful stone shard and sank to the floor, back to Jordy's dresser. The cold floor stung his bare feet as the chill air clung to his exposed arms and legs.

Within the depths of the alien stone, glimmers of gold flickered. Mark plopped the stone into his lap. The polished surface almost glowed with every memory of distant Iscandar and waned with the loss of every crewman who hadn't made it home. He clutched the shard so tight an edge bit his palm, but he barely registered the pain as he withdrew his comm and opened Derek's message one more time. "You don't need my help, Wildstar," he whispered with another glance toward the closet. "Let someone else do it this time." _I've got to be here for my family. Everyone's gone through enough the past few years._

Mark shut his eyes against the phantom still lurking behind his uniform, beckoning him to answer Wildstar's summons. The funeral last year on Heroes' Hill came back—along with the names of everyone who'd earned a headstone that day.

 _The service ended, and each fallen member of the Star Force lay entombed atop the grassy hill overlooking the city. One extra headstone stood among the honored dead, Princess Astra of Iscandar, the woman who'd given her life so Earth could receive her sister's message of hope._

 _Mark trailed his family back to their car. His shoulders sagged more at each piece of cobbled path. Names stared up at him, one engraved in each six-inch stone._

 _Jordy's hand slipped into Mark's. "I'm glad you're okay, big brother."_

" _Yeah…" said Mark, "me too."_

" _I really like this crystal you gave me." Jordy held up the blue-green stone. "What's it called again?"_

" _Iscandarium," said Mark. "Queen Starsha gave it to me. She wanted you to have it—so you'd always remember the_ Argo _'s journey… and…" his eyes welled with tears as he passed over another friend's name, "… and how much we sacrificed to save Earth."_

 _Jordy nodded and started reading the stone too. Half-way down the hill, Jordy said, "Would you do it again? If Earth was in danger, and need help one more time, would you go?"_

 _Mark stopped._

 _Another family passed them, weeping for their fallen daughter. Next came a young woman, fingering the gold band on her left hand as tears streamed down her face._ _Then, a boy four or five years younger than Jordy clutched his grandmother's hand and looked around like a lost puppy. "Where's Momma and Daddy? When are they coming back?"_

" _They can't come home, sweetie." The old woman stopped and hugged the boy close as she sobbed._

 _Jordy's eyes fixed on Mark. "I never want you to leave again, but…" He squeezed his brother's big hand. "You're a really great hero, and if everybody needs you…" Jordy motioned for Mark to come down to his eye-level._

 _Mark knelt._

" _Promise me you'll help."_

 _The boy's serious eyes gripped Mark, and he nodded. "I promise."_

Mark sucked in a shaky breath and opened his eyes. Derek's message greeted him. "02:00."

The stone's colors swirled as it caught the moonlight. Sapphire and emerald split into equal halves for three short seconds before they melded into one inseparable whole again.

"You gave up everything too, didn't you, Starsha…" Mark whispered. "The price of offering us help was your sister's life, but both of you paid it, anyway." He stood on freezing feet and replaced the stone. One gentle toss, and his comm thumped onto the bed. Mark went straight to his closet where the standard-issue blues blocked his way. He threw them onto the bed and pulled the door open, careful not to wake Jordy with his shuffling. From the bottom of the closet, Mark pulled a plain gray case. He set it on top of his EDF uniform—now wrinkled—and popped the latch.

The green and white Star Force navigation corps uniforms looked up at him as if to say, "Been a long time, old friend." Mark withdrew one of the uniforms and grabbed the matching boots from the back of his closet. Quiet as a cat after a mouse, he changed and gathered his things.

Finally, ready to go, Mark stepped to Jordy's bedside and brushed the boy's hair from his eyes. "Bye, little brother," he whispered and tucked a piece of paper under the Iscandarium shard. "I'll see you again soon."

Jordy didn't stir as Mark slipped out.

At the other end of the hall, his father's light snore sneaked from under his parents' bedroom door. He lingered a moment and then slipped a note under the door.

 _Don't think too badly of us, Mom, Dad. They'll call us mutineers—traitors. Don't believe any of it._

* * *

An alarm blared as the water vents inside the dock locked shut.

"Sandor?!" Derek gritted his teeth. _Not good. No vents, no water. No water, no launch._

"Working on it," Sandor, ship XO and science officer, said, bionic arms moving faster than Derek could track. "Overriding lock-down."

The nearest vent, twenty feet above the ship was clearly visible out the front viewport. _Come on. Open!_ Derek leaned forward in his seat until the console jabbed his ribs. He gripped the chair arms so hard his fingers ached.

With a grinding wail, the stubborn metal vent leaves jerked open.

"Yes!" Derek pumped a fist in the air as water poured into the undersea dock. "Five minutes to launch," he announced throughout the ship after another quick check of the still unmanned navigation terminal.

The deck lurched at another loud clank. "What now…?" Derek looked to Sandor.

"They engaged the door locks. The water's getting in, but we won't be able to leave unless we tear through the exit door." Sandor pointed to the thick metal hatch that barred their path.

"Get it open," Derek said.

Sandor nodded. "Yes, Captain."

 _Captain…_ Derek froze a second as the responsibility attached to that title rolled over him. Outside, the water level rose above the bridge viewport. "Status on that door?"

"Almost there," Sandor replied. "Five seconds."

Derek tapped his console as the murky water closed over the ship like sand over an ancient desert ruin.

"Opening gantry locks," said Sandor.

A dozen groaning clanks released the ship, and the _Argo_ floated free of her stabilizing clamps.

"Door opening in three—two—one—"

The iris door swirled out, leaving a trail of bubbles and a tiny cyclone as the water inside the dock whooshed into the wide tunnel leading to the ocean.

"Engage auxiliary engine," said Derek as he slipped into Mark's chair. Unfamiliar readouts stared at him like children testing a new teacher. He reached for the steering yolk.

A gloved hand settled over Derek's, and he jumped three inches out of the chair. "I'll take it from here, Wildstar."

"Mark!" Derek grinned. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Wouldn't miss it," replied Venture as he swiped away the water trailing down his face. Wet shoes slapped on the deck as Mark took his station.

"You swim here?" Derek quipped as he settled into his own familiar seat.

"Something like that." Mark's lopsided smirk said it was a long story. "All ahead, one-quarter speed."

"All head, a quarter speed," Orion echoed from his engineering station toward the back of the bridge.

 _Argo_ eased through the door, into the warm waters of the Western Pacific.

"Engage flywheel," Mark said.

"Flywheel is engaged," Orion echoed. "Main engine online and up to seventy percent power. Eighty, ninety, one hundred percent."

"Incoming missiles," Nova announced from the radar post.

"What?" Derek flew out of his seat. "We're not even out of the exit tunnel yet. They could bring this whole section of the complex down! Dash, take them out."

"Firing to intercept," said the gunnery chief. "Two missiles down."

The deck shuddered.

"What was that?" Derek whirled toward Nova.

"One missile attached to the hull," she replied.

"It didn't go off?" Derek's brow furrowed. _Why didn't it go off?_

"They're weighted," said Sandor. "Headquarters is trying to ground us. I can dislodge the weights by disrupting their magnetic field with a quick hull charge."

"Do it fast, or we're not making it out of here." Derek sat and pulled up the radar data.

"Three dozen more inbound," Nova said.

"On it!" said Dash, and his team shot down all but three of the weighted missile swarm.

Sandor grunted as the remaining three fastened to the hull. "They're shielded." He shook his head. "Looking for their shield frequency now."

Mark coaxed a little more speed from the engine and winced at his readouts. "We can't keep his up much longer."

"Twenty more incoming," said Nova.

"Sandor?" Derek glanced toward the science station.

"Almost—There!" Sandor cut through the missiles' shields and triggered the hull charge.

The _Argo_ shot out of the tunnel, free of her burden.

The moment the bow broke the surface, Derek's heart skipped. Night—clear and peaceful—greeted them. Ocean waves splashed against the hull as the old resurrected battleship cut through the water. Each crest bid the _Argo_ and her crew farewell as they left the surface and soared up into the welcoming stars.

* * *

"Captain Gideon." General Stone pressed his comm close to his ear. "Take _Andromeda_ and go after those fools! They've stolen the _Argo_. Bring it back however you can—shoot it down if necessary."

Commander Charles Singleton leaned back in his chair, stomach churning with guilt as he let Stone give the order.

Stone hung up. "They think they can do whatever they want."

"I'm sure that isn't true," Charles defended.

"Then what are they doing, Commander? Their claims are ridiculous!" Stone leaned over Charles' desk, dark eyes clouded with stormy wrath.

"They're… doing what they have to," Charles met Stone's gaze.

"They won't make it past Jupiter," Stone growled. "Gideon will stop them." The General stomped out of the office.

Charles bowed his head and shut off his computer for the second time that night. Each one of Stone's furious steps still rang in the empty room.

He checked the time—two twenty-nine. Charles swallowed hard. _I should've tried harder to sway the council—done more to prevent this. I never meant to force them into an impossible situation. I just want peace—quiet. That's all. But if I speak against the council, it could jeopardize my position. The last thing Earth needs right now is an upset in military leadership. And who would take my place? Thomas?_ He snorted at the thought of Stone leading the EDF. _Every officer at Headquarters would be at Central Hospital for stress after a week._ Charles pulled open a hidden bottom drawer. _Still… I couldn't just do nothing…_ Printed reassignment orders for the _Argo_ 's crew cluttered the draw—every one, unsent.

* * *

 **Episode 3: Notes**

Editing pass two completed 10/5/2019.

The title for Episode three was taken from Isaiah 7:1-7

"And it came to pass in the days of Ahaz the son of Jotham, the son of Uzziah, king of Judah, that Rezin the king of Syria, and Pekah the son of Remaliah, king of Israel, went up toward Jerusalem to war against it, but could not prevail against it.

And it was told the house of David, saying, Syria is confederate with Ephraim. And his heart was moved, and the heart of his people, as the trees of the wood are moved with the wind.

Then said the LORD unto Isaiah, Go forth now to meet Ahaz, thou, and Shearjashub they son, at the end of the conduit of the upper pool in the highway of the fuller's field;

And say unto him, Take heed, and be quiet; fear not, neither be **fainthearted** for the two tails of these smoking firebrands, for the fierce anger of Rezin with Syria, and the son of Remaliah.

Because Syria, Ephraim, and the son of Remaliah, have taken evil counsel against thee, saying,

Let us go up against Judah, and vex it, and let us make a breach therein for us, and set a king in the midst of it, even the son of Tabeal:

Thus saith the Lord GOD, It shall not stand, neither shall it come to pass.


	5. Episode 4: Assemble the Outcasts

**Episode 4: Assemble the Outcasts**

The castle floor shook, rattling every shard of crystal in Trelaina's castle and quaking every drop of water in the mountain lake.

Trelaina left any thought of sleep behind as she snatched up her dress hem and dashed to the door. The darkness beyond the lake loomed like a barely chained monster kept at bay by the castle's soft glow. Another tremor jolted the air and Trelaina grabbed the door frame for balance. This time, the quake's intensity sent waves like jagged fingers to scrape at the hovering castle.

In the moment of peace between two waves, Trelaina rushed to the comm console. Its display activated at her touch and a warning flashed as video from at least a hundred tiny drones flooded the screen and overflowed into the air around her. Dread rose thick in her throat. "You found your courage…" she whispered as a battalion of sturdy tanks tracked across the desert nearest Trelaina's mountain. The symbol of the white comet glared from each metal flank like a starving lion, ready to shred its next victim. Tank after tank rolled through the dunes and tore through ruined piles of ancient stone – all that remained of a once-thriving civilization.

An instant of guilt tried to paralyze her, say this was all her fault. _Enough!_ Trelaina raised the castle's protective shield. "Try to take my world again," she dared the coming troops. "Even with all your might, you cannot fell me, _Gatlanteans_." Silver globes hanging from her long sleeves pulsed with growing light as Trelaina knelt, hands folded, closed eyes raised in a prayer.

Even now, enemy soldiers' footsteps clicked in the entry tunnel. Soon they would find her, try to kill her, or worse, take her for their own uses. Word of her power had spread after the first encounter with the Cometines over a hundred years ago, and many had come to claim her in that interim.

"Shaddai," Trelaina whispered her prayer, "lend me Your grace." Brilliant sparks danced and clung to her hair like fireflies on a summer's eve. She rose and went to the open door, invisible from outside the shield.

The cavern mouth yawned, dark and empty until fifteen men trickled through, all armed. They spread through the cavern like ants over bare rock. Their leader, a sturdy man, skin moss-green with a scar crossing one eye, stopped eyes fixed on her as if he could see through the shield. As the rest of the men surrounded the lake, the leader raised a fist and waved it forward, a signal for everyone to advance. All fifteen sloshed into the lake.

"General Torbuk, we're wasting our time," said the soldier nearest the scarred man. "There's nothing –"

"Silence!" Torbuk as he waded three feet farther into the water and hefted his weapon. The gun's shell alone threatened ruin. Blacker than midnight, its muzzle stretched wide as a small cannon. He slung it onto one shoulder, took a wide stance, and fired.

Thunder shook the air as a blast the color of mangled dreams blazed toward Trelaina. She flung up both hands and looked away.

Shouts filled the cavern as a wall of water shot up around the invisible castle and drowned the blast before shoving the soldiers to shore, drenched. Even General Torbuk staggered backward, weapon still balanced on his shoulder.

"She's here," Torbuk growled. "Retreat to the tunnel!"

The unit hurried into the passage as water rushed after them, grasping at them now instead of Trelaina's home. Each reach of the lake flailed at the soldiers' boots and sent several slipping into the mud in their hurry to flee.

Trelaina dropped her hands and concentrated on the men's faint voices, now just inside the tunnel.

"… Diviner…?" One asked.

"Can't be," another answered.

"… too long," a third said.

"What about… water?" the first man said.

"Take her… Prince Zordar."

Torbuk leapt from the tunnel and swung out his weapon, holding it like a battering ram. He took aim at the cavern center again.

 _Leave me alone!_ Trelaina's ring, an adoption gift from her father, burned hot as a brand. She raised the emerald ring high and golden light flowed over her from head to foot. _You will not make this a place of war again._ Trelaina's feet left the entrance' threshold, and she rose from the castle. To the soldiers she appeared as if by magic, floating in the air like a ship atop the waves.

"This Diviner!" one soldier brave enough to peek from the tunnel shouted. "She's alive!"

The air around Trelaina stuttered and sparked. White heat hazed her vision as half the lake's water broke from the basin and swirled around her in a protective sphere.

Even Torbuk scrambled back down the tunnel screaming, "The Diviner! The Diviner is alive!"

* * *

"Fighters incoming, from the Lunar Base," Nova said from the radar station. "Three squadrons—Tiger class."

"Gunnery teams, prepare to–" Dash began.

"No. Hold your fire," Derek, at the captain's station at the back of the bridge, stood.

"Yes, Sir," Dash said.

Each plane whizzed by the line of front bridge viewports. Derek's suspicion rose as the entire group turned and whipped past again, skimming less than ten feet from the bridge tower. _It can't be… He wouldn't leave his post on a hunch… Would he?_

Nova stifled a gasp as the planes pulled stunts that would drop most pilots' guts in the recycler.

One of the three squadrons formed up just ahead of the _Argo_.

Derek crossed his arms and set his jaw. _Come on. If it's you, say something._

The lead plane flipped into a barrel roll, and three others copied the maneuver.

"Wildstar, listen!" At the comm station, Homer broadcasted an incoming message.

"–Conroy. Permission to board the _Argo_?"

Derek sighed in relief and sat back down. "Granted. It's good to see you again, Peter."

"Heard you were causing trouble, Wildstar." Conroy chuckled. "Couldn't pass up the chance to come along. Brought same new recruits too."

"Glad you showed," Derek said. "Hangar doors are open."

"Roll out the red carpet," said Peter. "Conroy's Tigers are coming home!"

The bridge officers cheered and all except Nova and Homer – who stayed in case of emergency – rushed to the hangar. Everyone arrived just as the fifth plane slid into its bay. A line of fighters stretched the length of the hangar. In the low gravity pilots floated down from their cockpits two and three at a time as more and more Tigers docked.

Derek pushed off the floor and glided over to Peter, who was just taking off his helmet.

"Conroy!" Derek clapped the pilot on the shoulder. "It's good to see this hangar full again. We only had one astro-fighter on board, and that's because Feria sneaked it on just before we left."

"Feria's with you?" Conroy looked around the hangar. "She's not here."

"I put her on third—same as her rotation at the base," Derek replied.

"Oh…" Conroy said and then glanced over his shoulder. "Wildstar, I want you to meet three of the new recruits." He indicated the approaching trio. "Jefferson Hardy." He motioned forward a young man, hair swooped over one eye.

Hardy took off his helmet and stuck out his hand. "Pleasah ta meet you," he drawled. "I've huhed about this ship." He surveyed the hangar. "A beauty."

Derek chuckled. "Yes, she is."

Peter beckoned the second pilot. "Francis Kelly Georgia Rory Mathison," Conroy recited. "But she goes by 'Buddy.'"

"Good to meet you." Derek offered his hand.

"It's wonderful to be here!" Buddy gushed, grabbing Derek's hand with both of hers as she left her helmet to float beside her. Her blue eyes sparkled. "When Tiger Lead—Conroy—said he was coming along on the _Argo_ 's mission, whatever that is, we all wanted in."

Derek smiled. "I'm glad all of you made it."

"And…" Peter waved to the third pilot who hovered ten feet away. "This is my wingman, Dathan Feldmann. He was stationed at Luna II when I got there—really helped me settle in." Conroy clapped Feldmann on the back as the new pilot unfastened his helmet and tucked it under one arm. "Dathan, meet my old friend, Derek Wildstar, the _Argo_ 's acting captain."

Dathan towered six inches above Derek, and his deep emerald eyes were unsettling. Medium bronze skin made Derek look pasty, and Dathan's hair was several shades darker than his. A closely shaven goatee branched over the pilot's stoic upper lip.

Dathan extended his hand. On his wrist was a thin, silver band, inscribed with the initials, D.F. "My medical records," he offered. "Nothing to be too concerned about."

Derek nodded. "It's good to have you aboard." He gave the pilot's hand a firm shake and hid a wince at Feldmann's strong grasp. "Any wingman of Conroy's is welcome aboard."

The pilot's grip relaxed.

"But he's not better than me."

Dathan's surprise jolted through Derek's hand, and the new pilot let go of Wildstar's hand as Feria popped around Conroy's other shoulder. She wore a bright smile.

"No one will ever be better than you." Peter grinned. "I thought you were asleep."

"Sleep's overrated." Feria waved off the suggestion.

"Get everyone settled in," Derek said. "Since we're black-listed now, we have to be ready for anything."

Conroy nodded, eyes still on Feria. "Will do, Captain."

* * *

As the rest of Conroy's troupe settled into their new hangar, Peter and Feria floated at the bottom of one bay stack and stared up at the topmost pilot weaving in and out of his cockpit to give it a thorough cleaning.

Peter reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver chain. A red stone shone in its setting. He held it out to Feria in an open palm. "Here."

"Keep it."

Peter's heart skipped as Feria curled his hand around the carmine. "But it's–"

"Mine to give," she whispered as her deep brown eyes sparkled at him.

The stone's slight warmth radiated into Peter's hand. A flush settled in his cheeks, and he tucked the stone back into his pocket. His fingers brushed the letter Feria left him after their journey to Iscandar. * "I–"

"Do I get a tour of this place?" Feldmann rounded a plane parked a few feet away.

Peter started. "Dathan! Yes, sure." He gave Feria a long look.

"Go on," she said. "We'll catch up later."

"Later," Peter said and then motioned for Dathan to follow as he pushed off toward the hangar door. "Don't know how long we have, so I'm just going to hit the high points for now."

Dathan stuck close as Peter wove through the narrow halls with confident ease. They stopped at a nearby gun placement then headed to the med bay before circling around to the engine room.

When they stepped through the wide door, Dathan stopped, eyes fixed on the massive structure that occupied the cavernous space. "That… is the engine?"

Peter nodded. "We built it using a design Queen Starsha gave us before we set out for Iscandar." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "She sent us the core."

Dathan crossed his arms. "Impressive. I didn't know this ship had such a colorful history."

Peter waved Dathan along. "Come on. Chief Orion doesn't like anyone hanging around in here."

His wingman followed him, but not without casting a dozen glances back at the engine before they left.

"These are the crew quarters," Peter said as they entered a quiet section. "There's a common area at the complex's center. Have you checked your room assignment?"

Dathan pulled out his newly issued comm. "Not yet."

"You should have a message…" Peter leaned over Dathan's comm. "Here." He tapped the newest notice. "Room twenty-four in section B. That's…" Peter looked up and down the hall. "This way." He pointed to a section up ahead.

"Captain Wildstar has his own quarters elsewhere, I'd imagine," Dathan said as he tucked his comm away.

"The cabin over the bridge? No. He would never take that. It belonged to the _Argo_ 's first captain, Abraham Avatar. He led us to Iscandar and back—and died doing it." Peter stopped and pointed to the door opposite them. "That's Wildstar's quarters."

"He must have great respect for Captain Avatar." Dathan studied the door.

"We all do," Peter said. "He was… a hero."

* * *

Derek didn't bother to hold in his smile as Nova checked over the radar, looking thrilled to have her old equipment back, plus a few upgrades.

"Approaching the asteroid belt," Nova said. "Once we're through, we can make our first warp." She adjusted the radar and made sure all the new elements were properly activated. "Capitol ship incoming," she said and checked the Iscandari module to get a quicker registry. "It's _Andromeda_!"

Derek's smile disappeared as Nova put the ship on the main viewscreen. _Just what we needed._

"We can lose them in the belt," Mark said from the helm.

"It's worth a shot," Derek said. "Take us in."

Mark angled them into the belt. As _Argo_ 's bow plunged into the stream of rock fragments, _Andromeda_ didn't slow.

"They're at the ring's outer perimeter," Nova said. "And… they aren't following. They've disappeared! Gone off the radar!"

"Find them." Derek studied each asteroid they passed as Mark edged through the field like a soldier through landmines. But within the hour, the _Argo_ emerged unscathed.

" _Andromeda_ straight ahead, off the port bow," Nova said.

"They went over it," Mark hissed.

"All ahead, half-impulse," said Derek. "Dash, prepare main guns, but hold fire until I give the order."

 _Andromeda_ swung starboard and brought all her guns to bear on the _Argo_.

"We've got a hail," Homer said.

"Put it through."

Captain Gideon's grizzled face, half-hidden by his drooping captain's hat flickered onto the viewscreen. His shadowed eyes, dark and stern, locked onto Derek. "Return, Wildstar."

"Not until I'm sure Earth is safe." Derek matched the old man's stare.

"Turn back," Gideon warned. "You'll be outcasts—fugitives."

"What people call us isn't important. Earth is in danger, Captain Gideon, and we're going to find out why." Derek signaled Homer to cut the call. Gideon's face vanished, but _Andromeda_ made no move to get out of the way.

 _Argo_ advanced, its bow less than a thousand mega-meters from _Andromeda_. Gideon's ship still didn't budge.

"Wildstar…" Mark's voice rose as the distance to the other ship closed.

"Stay on course."

Mark clenched the helm controls, tenser than a drawn bowstring.

"Steady."

The next second, _Argo_ scraped over _Andromeda_ 's main gun turrets and passed twenty feet from its bridge tower. They were so close the men seated at the frontmost bridge stations were visible. Derek held his breath and leaned forward in the captain's seat, waiting for _Andromeda_ 's retaliation.

Nothing.

Andromeda never fired a shot.

Derek checked the radar station on his console. _Any second now Gideon will come after us. Any second…_

Homer startled Derek. "We're getting a message—no, two. One's headed for EDF Headquarters from _Andromeda_. It reads, 'Anticipated encounter with the _Argo_ did not occur. Will return to Earth immediately.' The other is addressed to… us. 'I know Captain Avatar taught you well, and I trust his judgment in you. Do what you must to save Earth.'"

"That sly old man just bought us a lot of time," Dash said.

Derek stood and gave the departing _Andromeda_ a salute. "We owe you one, Captain Gideon."

* * *

Derek groaned and cracked open both eyes for the sixth time in two hours. "Will you be quiet already?" he growled at the spindly plant beside the door. Queen Starsha's gift often made peculiar sounds, but seldom this persistently, and in the middle of the night.

The rustling stopped.

Derek sighed and sat up. He rubbed his aching head. "Thanks, Mark." The bunk above him, where Mark had stayed during their last trip, lay empty. "Couldn't stay with the acting captain." Derek shook his head. "No, of course not—not your place." He rolled his eyes. "You just had to move in with Homer instead." Derek rolled out of bed. "Leave me alone with this creepy alien plant that won't shut up. What's it doing anyway? Trying to talk to me?" He kept muttering as he paced the small room for five minutes.

Another rustle. His head pounded now.

"I get it!" Derek growled at the plant. "I don't even know what I'm doing out here!" He sank to his knees. "And now I'm talking to myself. What kind of captain leads a team on a mission he doesn't understand…?" Derek beat the floor with one angry fist. The next second he hissed and shook the offended hand. He got up, threw on the clothes discarded in the corner and stepped into the hall. "Feldmann?" Derek dodged the taller man an instant before Dathan ran into him. "It's 0200."

"Sorry… Captain." Dathan, wearing something akin to a maintenance uniform, tucked his hands into his dark pants' pockets. "Couldn't sleep. First night in a new place—you know?"

"Had a few of those myself," Derek replied. "Headed anywhere in particular?"

"Just… wandering," the pilot said as he took a step back to give Derek room enough to leave his cabin.

"I think I'll head down to the labs." Derek said. "I know Sandor's still up. You want to tag along?"

"Sure." Dathan fell into step beside Derek, slowing his longer strides to match Derek's pace.

Derek rubbed his drooping eyes and noticed Dathan pull his hands out of his pockets long enough to scratch his braceleted wrist.

When they reached Sandor's lab, Derek stepped inside first, Dathan close behind. A light shone above the inside door frame, and another glowed beside Sandor's desk. Wall-mounted computer displays set in a precise grid bathed the rest of the lab in dim light. Each display captured Sandor's intermittent attention as the science officer and XO sifted through gigaquads of information from the Iscandar trip.

When Derek entered, Nova stepped around the desk and into the light. "What're you doing here?" she said.

Dathan jumped like a startled cat when Nova appeared. "I... think I'll head back to my bunk. That walk was exactly what I needed."

"Goodnight," Derek said. Once Dathan left, Derek approached Nova. "Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Came to check up on some new features for the radar," Nova said, her eyes locked on the door.

"You okay?" Derek asked.

"It's just… Something about that new pilot seems… familiar."

"Maybe he was stationed at HQ for a while?" Derek offered.

"No… It's not that. His eyes. They remind me of…"

Derek raised a brow.

Nova shook her head and waved the strange feeling away. "No. It's nothing," she sighed. "It's late. I'm going to bed." She started for the lab door.

All three officers' comms buzzed.

"Trouble," Sandor muttered as he reluctantly left his research to follow Derek and Nova up to the bridge.

"What's going on?" Derek demanded as he stepped off the bridge elevator.

"Wildstar, you've got to hear this," Homer said. "It's an S.O.S." He leaned over the night shift comm tech and re-played the most recent message.

"Marine base—Brumis—attacked!" the recording hissed. "Help—strange ships—too fast!"

"Brumis?" Derek said. "But that's—"

"Just out past Eris," Homer said. "Sounds bad. The signal repeats every thirty seconds."

"Vasquez, set course for Brumis. Nova, you think you can do a quick warp calculation?"

"On it." Nova enlisted Miki, the other primary radar tech, to help and within sixty seconds, they were done. "Sending the numbers to helm now."

"Got it," Vasquez, the third-shift helmsman, said. "Warp in thirty seconds."

"Hang on just a little longer, guys," Derek whispered. "We're coming."

* * *

 **Episode 4 Notes:**

 ***** To read about the letter Feria left Peter, check out the short story "Flame" in the "Yamato: Tales of the Star Force" collection.

 **Author's Notes:**

Editing pass one completed on 12/1/2019

\- The title for Episode Four was taken from Isaiah 11:11-12

"And it shall come to pass in that day, that the Lord shall set his hand again the second time to recover the remnant of his people, which shall be left, from Assyria, and from Egypt, and from Pathros, and from Cush and from Elam, and from Shinar, and from Hamath, and from the islands of the sea. And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth."


	6. Episode 5: Into the Land of Trouble

**Episode 5: Into the Land of Trouble**

Sweet darkness embraced Gairen. The stone floor radiated with an icy chill that rattled his old bones. "War-bringer," he whispered. "Grant vision to these sightless eyes."

A faint hum shook the air, and the cold marble stiffened his ancient fingers.

"You send me grievous dreams. I come to you for answers." He bowed his head to the ground, and his staff clacked against the floor. "Heilel, enlighten me."

Gold.

Light.

Death.

Gairen gasped and recoiled. The floor screeched beneath his knobbed knees as he slid back and planted his staff's tip. He pulled himself up and rushed from the temple to the throne room.

Gairen struggled to push the door open. A rush of air kissed his face as he stumbled into his king's presence.

"Prince Zordar." Gairen fell to one knee and bowed his head.

"High priest," the Prince's voice rumbled like a herd of mighty horses. "Approach."

Gairen rose and counted his steps. Fifty paces from the throne, he stopped.

"What news?" said the Prince.

"The War-bringer—he granted me a revelation," Gairen said.

From around the throne Princess Invidia and Prime Minister Sabera whispered at each other with all the civility of a jackal pack.

"You doubt my vision?" Gairen said.

"No, high priest!" Invidia replied. "I welcome your gift—even if Sabera does not."

 _Black and white—two edges of the same sword._ Gairen hid a smirk.

"I accept what I can lay my hands on," Sabera countered. "When one of these _revelations_ comes to pass, I will give your assertions more weight."

"What oracle have you for us?" Zordar said.

"The Diviner—she burns with the fire of destruction. Torbuk's forces… Doom awaits them–"

"Doom," Sabera scoffed. "Torbuk will prevail, as always."

"From the ashes, she will rise." Flashes of the vision returned. "On golden wings—among the stars she soars. And…" He pointed toward the image that swam in his mind's eye. "A ship goes with her."

"Ship?" Invidia's boots clicked on the hard floor as she approached.

"Old, battered." He shivered. "It shines with a star's fierce light." He covered his face. " _Gatlantis_ … Great Prince, it will–"

"Enough of this nonsense." Sabera cut around Invidia in two swift strides. "Vision or no, the Diviner will fall." She leaned in, and her breath warmed Gairen's cheek. "Speak of this again, and I will see your tenure cut short. Remember your predecessor's fate, _old man_."

He stepped back; his staff clacked. "I speak only Heilel's wisdom."

"Sabera is right, Seer. If Torbuk fails, I will see to the Diviner's demise," said Zordar. "She will fall."

"And the ship?" Gairen asked.

"Another will fell it in my stead," replied the Prince. "He is a fierce hunter. His tenacity knows no match."

Dread gnawed at Gairen. "If I may, great Prince. Who is this man of war in whom you would place your trust?"

"Return to your meditations, high priest."

* * *

"Get in the shelter—before the dome fails!" Sergeant Saito Knox herded two dozen terrified analysts through a thick door. "Lock yourselves in. We'll come back for you." He stepped out and slammed the vault shut as he cursed their attackers.

Another man, from one of the nearby buildings stumbled toward Knox.

Silence rang in the Sergeant's ears as his helmet filtered out another explosion.

The man in the hall lost his footing and careened away, sucked toward a breech in the dome.

Knox fired his jetpack and zoomed toward him. He grabbed and missed. The scientist rushed into the airless Brumis wilderness, dead.

Knox shook his head and gritted his teeth as he flew back into the dome and landed near a crumbling wall. The ground rocked with more explosions. He darted to the nearest intact building.

"Nagakura!" Knox hunkered behind one wall with five of his squad.

"Sarge." She stared down her scope. Enemy fire pelted the window ledge, and she ducked. "What's the plan?"

"Get them before they get us," Knox said. "And keep them away from the vault."

"Aye, Sarge." Nagakura grinned. "I can smell the fear rolling off those slimewads already."

"I think that's your air filter failing."

Nagakura socked Knox's shoulder.

"Tanks incoming," another Marine said. "Got thirty on the radar right now." He hefted a small computer. "But more keep rolling over those dunes."

"Split up. Stay low and take them out one at a time." He looked at each Marine. "We're getting out of this, even if I have to crush those alien scum with my bare hands."

"Sarge?" Nagakura tapped his shoulder.

"Yup?"

"Don't get yourself blown away, all right?"

"I'll try, kid, but I can't promise anything."

* * *

The _Argo_ dropped out of warp just outside Brumis-space.

"Incoming!" Nova said. "Fighters at twelve o'clock."

"Get an ID on those things." Derek stood and leaned on the captain's station console.

Fighters swooped past, and the ship rocked.

"Four direct hits," Sandor said.

"Radar's got a reading!" Nova said. "They're—they're Cometine! Scorpion-class."

Derek froze. _Just like the destroyers we met coming home from Iscandar._ Nausea hit him. _Is this my fault? I ordered us to investigate last year._ _Did they come after Earth because of it?_ "Send out the Tigers." He choked back the heat rising in his throat. "Let's take down as many of those planes as we can."

"Tiger Lead is away," Nova said ninety seconds later.

Derek sat and pulled up the in-cockpit video for every pilot.

Conroy dodged the enemy. Even though the Scorpions could outrace the Tigers, they couldn't out fly them. Each pilot took down at least three Cometine planes, and within five minutes, _Argo_ 's path was clear.

"Capitol ships inbound," said Nova. "Radar says Karakrum-class." She sent a schematic to Derek's console.

 _They're huge._ Derek eyed the ship's main guns. _Those could blow us away with two or three good hits._

"Homer, get a message to Commander Singleton—marked urgent. Tell him… we know who attacked Earth."

* * *

"I've got two rockets and a handful of grenades," said Nagakura, her back to the trench wall. "What about you?"

"Two and five," Knox replied. "Let's make em count."

Tanks rumbled closer.

"Ready?" Knox held up a grenade.

Nagakura pulled the pin on hers just as a dark undercarriage rolled over the trench.

They lobbed both grenades and hit the ground as the tank exploded five seconds later.

Nagakura peered over the trench lip. "More incoming. A lot more—at least thirty-five."

"Set for a rocket barrage," Knox said over the radio. "If we go, we're taking as many of those dirt bags with us as we can." He gritted his teeth as he loaded his rocket launcher and took aim at the oncoming enemy. "On my mark."

 _Ten. Nine. Eight._ The count wound down to zero.

"Fire!"

Rockets streaked into the tanks, and debris shards pelted the ground.

"Round two!" Knox ordered.

He looked down the trench and saw several men out of rockets.

"Fire!"

A two-foot metal bar zipped past Knox's head, and more remains showered the trench.

"I'm out, Sarge," said one man over the radio.

"Williams and me have two grenades left," said another.

"Stay low," Knox said. "Get to another group with ammo."

"Heading down the trench, Sarge," Williams replied.

"We're out too," said Nagakura.

"How many rockets we have?" Knox asked the group.

Silence.

"Then it's grenades all the way." He unhooked one from his belt. "I don't care if we have to throw rocks at them, but we're not letting those crazies take this patch of ground."

The squad cheered.

"Stay covered. Hit as many tanks as you can."

With every toss, Knox imagined the enemy's ranks shrinking. He tugged the pin from his last grenade and spit it into the dirt. _Three. Four. Five_. He chucked the explosive. It clung to a tank twenty feet away. Two seconds after it exploded, another one rolled over its dead husk.

 _Guess this is it._ He jumped out of the trench and gritted his teeth as he shook a fist at the enemy. "You'll take this place over my cold, dead body!"

The tank barrel swung toward Knox. He stared into its black maw.

"Get down!" Nagakura shouted.

Cheers erupted over the radio as the tank exploded. A plane with EDF insignia zoomed overhead.

"Way to go, Sarge! Our call got through! We're gonna make it!" shouted several men.

"Nothing more beautiful than a friendly face." Knox grinned.

A small craft settled nearby in a cloud of dust. Two men stepped out, both in white uniforms, one with red markings, the other with blue.

"We heard your signal." The one in red approached first. "I'm Dash, combat chief aboard the _Argo_ , and this is our XO, Sandor."

"You taking us off this rock?" Knox climbed out of the trench, Nagakura and the rest of the squad close behind.

The XO nodded.

Knox held out his hand to the man in blue. "Thanks. You really saved our hides."

The XO took Knox's hand with a grip much stronger than he anticipated. "Glad to help."

"Hey," Nagakura said. "The _Argo_? Isn't that–"

"You guys saved Earth a year or so back! What're you doing slumming out here?" Knox asked.

"It's a long story," said the XO. "For now, let's get you and your squad back to the ship."

* * *

"Incoming message—from Commander Singleton," Homer said. "Crew of the _Argo_ , in light of the new evidence presented because of your efforts at Brumis, the EDF council has determined that the _Argo_ and all her crew are reinstated, effective immediately. Your mission: find this new enemy and stop them." He smirked. "Sounds like they believe us now."

Sandor and Dash stepped off the bridge elevator with another man wearing fatigues. Derek gave him a nod and offered a fist-to-heart salute. The Marine replied in kind.

"Sergeant Saito Knox, Captain," he said. "All those scientists, my squad and I owe you our lives. If there's anything you need, we're at your service."

"Thank you." Derek nodded. "I'm sure I'll take you up on that offer before this is over."

"What's that, Captain?" Knox asked.

"The forces that attacked Brumis—they're heading for Earth. We spotted two scout ships in the past week and a half."

"Another message, Wildstar," Homer said. "The Commander says they're sending two fleets from Saturn here to Brumis. They want us to stay until they arrive."

"Maintain orbit," Derek said. "And keep an eye on the radar and sensors. Let me know if anything shows up before the fleets arrive."

"Yes, Sir," the officers replied.

Dash ushered the Marine off the bridge as Derek sat in the captain's chair and watched the bridge disappear as he ascended to Avatar's old cabin.

He left the chair and went to the wide viewport. Below, Brumis' barren surface passed. The ruined dome sat shattered, a narrow trench dug around the breached side.

 _At least no one's losing their careers because of me…_ He laid a hand against the cold pane. It fogged with each breath. _But how many of us won't come back from this…?_

* * *

Derek roamed the mess hall, tray in hand as he looked for an empty seat. He spotted one wedged in the far corner and headed for it. Two other officers started toward the same table, but when they saw Derek, they nodded and found another spot.

He slid into the narrow booth and then stared at his tray. Something resembling chicken occupied one corner. Two servings of vegetables and one pasta helping filled the other three sections.

As he picked at his food, the room spun. He concentrated on his tray and took deep breaths. His vision steadied.

 _If only_ _we knew where to go from here._ He cut into the hunk of chicken and tried a piece. _Where will we go once the fleets arrive?_ He poked at his veggies and ate a soggy carrot. _Got to rotate out KP._

Derek finished eating and got up, half-empty tray in hand. He headed for the return line.

"Feldmann?" Derek stopped as he passed the pilot's table. "Anyone sitting here?" He pointed to the chair opposite Dathan.

The pilot shook his head. "Knock yourself out."

"How're the Tigers treating you and the other newbies?" Derek asked.

"You'd never know we weren't Star Force," Dathan said. He stared at a limp green bean. "Conroy's a good squad leader. He doesn't put up with much—though I heard about the inflatable life-raft incident." Dathan smirked.

Derek laughed. "It's been a while since the trip to Iscandar."

"It's all I heard about back at Luna II. Everyone talked about that trip."

"So, what made you decide to come with us this time? We were mutineers until a few hours ago, you know."

Dathan nodded "Didn't matter to us. We knew if the _Argo_ was heading out against orders, they had good reason for it. Conroy would never join you if that weren't the case."

"I looked at the stats for the engagement earlier. You had six more kills than Conroy." Derek leaned in. "Call me crazy, but from watching you fly… Why didn't you challenge him for Lead?"

Dathan poked a shriveled carrot, then stabbed it. "Conroy's a good man, Captain, but he lets his conscience get in his way sometimes. I know he avoided kill shots on your previous trip, but this enemy isn't like the Gamilons—they fought for their home—for the ones they loved. This… menace… We just don't know. I'd rather be safe than sorry as the expression goes."

Derek nodded. "So, what brought you to Luna II? Clearly, you're an excellent pilot."

"Research job," Dathan replied. "I got on with a company during the economic recovery. They needed someone to go to Luna II as an analyst, so I volunteered."

"Jack-of-all-trades," Derek said.

"And master of some," Dathan added.

Derek's comm chirped. "Fleets are here," he said. "Gotta go."

Dathan nodded. "See you later."

* * *

"Captain Yamanami, I hereby transfer command of this area over to you, per EDF directive," Derek said to the man on the viewscreen.

Yamanami saluted, and the screen went dark.

Derek nodded to Mark. "Take us out."

They jumped to warp and dropped out just past the solar system limits. A few hours later, the night crew took over.

Derek sat in the captain's chair in silence as everyone gave their replacements a short briefing and then headed off to the mess hall or to bed. For over an hour he stared out the front viewport. His jumbled thoughts whispered, muttered, then swelled to a roar.

"Vasquez," he said to the helmsman. "Steady on course until I tell you otherwise."

"But, Captain, we don't have–"

"I know," Derek interrupted. "Just maintain your current heading."

"Yes, Sir," Vasquez replied.

Derek left the bridge.

When he stepped into the elevator, the chill of space washed over him, and he tucked his hands in his pockets. Cold still bit at his gloved fingers.

Derek stepped out into a quiet hall and headed for the place he often visited on the trip to Iscandar—the observation deck.

He entered the half-dome and leaned against the freezing metal rail.

Stars inched by.

 _So much waits… just out of sight…_ His hands trembled. He folded them, and the shaking lessened but didn't stop. _Where do we go now? What do we do?_ I _brought us here, but for what?_ He sighed. _At least we rescued Knox's crew._

It was two minutes past twenty-one hundred.

With another heavy sigh, Derek headed to his quarters where he changed and flopped into bed.

 _Why does nothing feel right?_

He lay awake and stared at the upper bunk's bare underside until his imagination conjured memories of the blackout: trains screamed into each other, lights snuffed out, animals fell silent.

A headache throbbed at the base of his skull. Derek rolled to one side and closed his eyes, but the worst image flooded in—that alien ship. It came at him. He stumbled back, face covered with trembling hands.

 _Haven't we been through enough? No more! Just let us live in peace!_

A rustle jolted him back. Derek shot up. "Ouch!" He rubbed his stinging forehead as the bunk rang from the impact. "Stop that!" he snapped at the Iscandarian plant.

Silence.

Derek settled and pulled the covers over his head, but no matter what he did, his mind wouldn't stop buzzing.

Another rustle.

He poked his head out, snagged a dirty shirt from the end of the bed and tossed it over the plant. It quieted.

The silence thickened, and he felt he might drown in it. At twenty-three hundred, Derek gave up. He threw on his clothes and headed back to the bridge.

When he stepped off the elevator, a flurry of activity stunned him.

"Captain!" Vasquez turned around in his chair. "We called you six times in the last half an hour!"

Derek checked his comm. Dead. He groaned and shoved it back in his pocket.

"What is it? What's going–" He froze.

Golden light poured from the astro compass. The glowing globe stood at the bridge's center.

"A heading," Derek whispered, his eyes focused on the compass. "Prepare for warp. We have our course."

* * *

 **Episode 5 Notes:**

The title for Episode 5 is taken from Isaiah 30:6:

The burden of the beasts of the south: **into the land of trouble** and anguish, from whence come the young and old lion, the viper and fiery flying serpent, they will carry their riches upon the shoulders of young asses, and their treasures upon the bunches of camels, to a people that shall not profit them.

 **Author's Note:**

All right! This week has been a roller-coaster, but I've finally made it. This chapter was a lot of fun to write—as they all are—but this one saw a few new characters introduced that I was excited to finally get to see and work with. Next week, we're off to _Tales_ again for Peter Conroy's entry, "Flight."

Great to see everyone, and, as always,

Happy reading and writing,

*dtill359


	7. Episode 6: This Broken Reed

**Episode 6: This Broken Reed**

Invidia sat on her couch and poured a drink from the crystal decanter. She sipped the liquor, some of the strongest on _Gatlantis_. She remembered the first time she sampled it, two years after her mother's death. At nine, she hadn't liked the taste, but she developed a strong tolerance—even affection for the alcohol's burning bite. Now, at nineteen, the sharp sting did what little else could—relive some of her fear. Every time she drank it, she remembered better times—before they went barreling toward certain death at the hands of the Diviner.

Silence filled the dark room. A tiny light burned opposite the decanter. It lit a five-foot circle which included one end of the couch. A thin curtain trailed from floor to ceiling between Invidia and her nearby bed, but the light did little to illuminate the room beyond the sheer the fabric. Hard shadows fell over the floor, and she scuffed at them with one red boot.

She raised her glass.

"Imbibing a bit early, aren't we?"

Invidia cursed as her drink sloshed. "Sabera, you're ruining my upholstery!"

The silver-haired Prime Minister slid from the shadows and into the dim light, a smirk on her lovely face. "I doubt that's the worst thing to grace your couch, little Princess." She folded her arms and looked down at Invidia.

She returned Sabera's gaze with a glare and then took another sip. "I have better things to do than listen to you prattle."

Sabera swept her hair over her shoulder. "You know why I'm here. Your father respects my opinion more than he does yours. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"That's because I don't stoop to sway him with _favors_ ," Invidia bit back.

"Now, now. No need for such a tone. The Diviner must fall. Prophets foretold it years ago—before my ascension to office."

"Yes, but the rest of the prophecy–"

"–has no bearing on this effort," Sabera countered. " _Gatlantis_ will prevail." She took a second glass and poured a drink. With two steps, she glided just outside the circle of light and sipped at her glass. "You really believe that nonsense Gairen touts, don't you? He's only an old, blind man, little Princess. I appointed him out of pity."

Invidia scoffed. "I know why you appointed him, and it wasn't out of pity." She took a long drink. "You think him weak."

"Because he is." Sabera's decorated nails clinked against her glass as she took another sip.

"And his visions?"

"Hallucinations of a starved mind. That old fool couldn't tell us anything useful if he tried."

"How did he know about the one we rescued two years ago? Were his visions useless then?" Invidia poured another glass.

Sabera took a conservative sip. "An educated guess—or perhaps luck. We already knew of the conflict. He only surmised the presence of survivors and won against slim odds."

"But these visions of destruction come more often as of late," Invidia protested. "This was the fourteenth in the past month."

"He is senile."

"Or, he is right! Sabera, I never said we shouldn't take Origin—only that we should take another road to reach her shore. I fear this highway we travel leads to our destruction, not our victory."

Sabera waved her off and licked red lips after another swallow of liquor. "Don't be so dramatic. Torbuk's forces have her contained. Only the killing strike remains."

"Then why haven't they already dealt it?"

Sabera fell silent and touched one finger just behind her ear. "Duty calls," she said and set down her half-empty glass.

As the Prime Minister left, Invidia poured a third drink and downed it in half a second.

* * *

"We will all die! The end comes! I can see it! I can see it all!" Gairen dropped his staff and reached out frantic hands, his long nails scraping the air like a cat avoiding a dousing.

"How long this time?" Sabera asked the guards clustered around the old priest.

"He just started—maybe ten minutes ago," said one.

"Confine him," Sabera said as she surveyed the hall outside the temple. "Take him back inside and don't let him out unless I tell you."

"Yes, Prime Minister," the guards said then bowed and hauled Gairen up off the polished floor.

The old man grasped the nearest guard's arm. His blind eyes searched the young man's face, "Please! Let me go! I cannot stay here:

For the glory of the great will fall,

And the might of the mighty tumble.

In the shadow of light will we all

Be made low and _Gatlantis_ will crumble." The priest wailed and fought the guards' grasp.

"He spouts more nonsense," Sabera dismissed. "His mind will decay faster than the last priest's. He's a danger to himself."

The guard Gairen held on to stared into the old man's face. Sabera worried at the spark of fear in the young Cometine's eyes as he helped the priest toward the temple door.

Gairen's sightless gaze turned to Sabera, and he continued with one clawed finger pointed at her:

"Empress of darkness, mistress of death,

Comfort will flee and from you they'll wrest

All life and all power—your bones and your breath.

Your last word will die, ripped from your chest."

Sabera growled. "Bold words for a lunatic." To the guards she said, "Post two sentries at this door, and three inside. I want to know if he has another fit. If this continues, he will either spend the rest of our journey in his room or sedated in the infirmary. I'll not have seditious words splinter our unity at a time like this." She gritted her teeth and drew her knife from its shoulder-mounted scabbard. "You." She pointed the razored blade at the young guard supporting Gairen. "Hand him off."

He obeyed.

"Come here."

The guard approached, head bowed.

"An intelligent boy like you knows better than to believe the ravings of a madman, don't you?" She tilted his chin, so he looked into her face.

"Y-yes, Prime Minister. Of course."

"Good." Her blade flashed to his throat. "Because if I catch even one whiff of a rumor that you've given his words merit… I'll slit your throat." She stared into his fear-filled eyes. "And that of anyone else I catch breathing a word of those foolish spewings."

"Y-yes, Prime Minister," the guard choked.

"Now, you will stand _outside_ his door, and you will not enter upon pain of death—unless I tell you otherwise. Is that understood?" She sheathed her knife.

He nodded.

Sabera watched him follow the other guards. With a wary glance back at her he stopped outside the door and didn't move to help carry the writhing old man back into the temple.

Sabera hastened from the Warbringer's place of worship to the throne room where Prince Zordar sat, talking with half a dozen generals about troop placements for the coming push to Origin.

"Ah, Sabera," Zordar said upon seeing her. "What brings you here?"

"High Priest Gairen fell ill again, Sire," she said as she knelt before the Prince.

Zordar dismissed his generals as Sabera rose.

After all six men left she continued, "His predecessor's disease festers in his weak mind."

"Ignore him," said Zordar. "Origin's taking demands our full attention. When we've accomplished that, we will deal with other, less important matters."

Sabera bowed. "But, my Prince, if we suffer his delirium any longer, we risk dissent."

"Trust _Gatlantis_ , Sabera. Our people followed me from the home world all the way here. They will follow a little longer. Let Gairen be. He is no threat. Assemble our fleets. The Diviner's border draws near, and from there, we move to take Origin."

"Yes… Prince Zordar. For the glory of the Empire."

"For the glory of the Empire."

* * *

Darkness swallowed the garden as Invidia waited near the tree line. Shadows danced in the simulated wind. No one else was out this late, and the fountain in the center of the clearing bubbled cheerily despite the suspicion-drowned air.

She hid in silence, her hood up to ward off the eyes of chance visitors.

Finally, he arrived.

"General Dyre," she whispered upon his approach.

He held back his own hood just long enough for her to see his face, then with a wary glance around the clearing, he replaced it. "The Prime Minister is… worrisome," said the general.

"Father trusts her too much," Invidia said. "If we go to Telezart, she will use the opportunity to wrest power from him—perhaps even arrange his death."

"She once loved him…" Dyre whispered.

"Perhaps," Invidia sneered. "Or was that merely a way to collar him? Her youth blinds Father to her ruthlessness."

"I'm sure he knows her capabilities."

"You've seen him, Dyre. He does whatever she says—even if it's foolish."

"Princess, we must not question Prince Zordar too loudly on this."

"I will not lose my head because a hedonic vixen holds my father's leash," Invidia hissed. "Let us enlist the help of someone else—someone who can serve as a buffer between that witch and our lives."

"And how do you intend to recruit such a party?" said Dyre.

Invidia let two seconds of silence fall between them. "By using the right bait."

* * *

"We've finished construction on twelve fully stocked bunkers," Admiral Raymond Talan said to his son, Masterson. "The quakes are more frequent, but the bunkers hold. For now. We must begin the evacuation soon."

Masterson nodded. "Reconstruction is impossible under these conditions. I've spoken with Queen Starsha at length, and she's willing to house as many of our people as we can send her."

Elisa Lysis cradled her sleeping one-year-old daughter. "We need a permanent solution. Evacuation is but one step. We can't overrun Starsha's world forever even though she is too gracious to deny us."

"I know," Masterson said. "Frakken, what have you found?"

"We can send more refugees to Galera, but they're still vetting survivors from the first catastrophe almost two years ago. We need more time to find a solution."

"What of the other colonies?" Masterson said.

"None of them are in any shape to take in this many people," replied Frakken.

"Admiral Dietz, what's the state of our remaining military?" Talan turned to the oldest member of the council.

"Tenuous at best," replied Dietz. "All will follow you, Prime Minister, but the sudden, violent loss of Leader Desslok shook them."

Masterson looked away. "I understand. If I could ease the transition, I would. We will mourn when our people are safe. For now, keep them together as best as you can, and I will continue to visit each installation regularly."

Dietz nodded. "We will hold together, Sir. It is the only thing we can do. At least in the wake of such tragedy we've been able to use the knowledge we've gained to enhance our fleets. Journeys that once took months will now take weeks, or days."

A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Enter," said Masterson.

In stepped a young man, head bowed. "Prime Minister," he said. "There is a message for you."

Masterson picked up his communicator. "Send it through."

"It is a private communique, Sir. They will only speak to you—alone."

Masterson nodded to the gathered four. "Go get something to eat. We'll resume later."

The group dispersed.

The messenger tapped his relay unit and stepped outside.

As the door clanked shut Masterson studied the message notification. The origin code was foreign, but the instant he connected to the call anxiety shot through his gut. A woman garbed in the attire of Cometine royalty stared at him. Her raven hair was long and straight, and the blood-red gem affixed to her headdress shone. Instead of olive green, her skin shone porcelain white, and sharp, dark eyes pierced him.

"I am Princess Invidia, of _Gatlantis_ , heir to Prince Zordar of the Comet Empire," she said. "And you must be Prime Minister Masterson Talan." She gave him a cold smile.

"I am," he said.

"I have information of interest to you, Prime Minister—information that could unite your people again."

"Do we look factious to you?"

The Princess scoffed. "Everyone knows of the once-great Gamilon's collapse. You tell me you've brought every splinter group under your control in less than two years? I doubt that very much."

"What do you have to offer me?" Masterson asked, expression neutral.

"This," Princess Invidia said.

A video feed appeared; it displayed the interior of a Cometine construction facility, and in dry dock sat a nearly finished ship's skeleton. Its hull was deep blue, much like several old Gamilon cruisers. The feed shifted to show the finished ship as it took off from the hangar.

"Pardon my ignorance, Princess, but I'm not sure I understand."

"No? Perhaps this will help." A recording of a war meeting played. Everything was in Cometine and there was no video. He wasn't always sure what they said, but when a familiar voice weighed in—also speaking Cometine, but with a heavy accent, he hid his astonishment.

"You'll have to do better than that," said Masterson. "Cheap sound tricks won't earn you my belief. I'm not making a journey to _Gatlantis_ based on this meager showing."

"Skeptical to the last, I see." She smirked. "Very well. I'd hoped to save it, but if this doesn't convince you, nothing will."

Princess Invidia played another video feed. Masterson checked its time-index. The date showed nearly a month after the battle at Gehenna's Bridge.

The longer Masterson watched, the harder it was to hide his shock. "I will come to _Gatlantis_ ," he said after only half a minute.

"Good. But I have conditions," Princess Invidia said.

Masterson waited.

"You must not tell your people where you are going, or why you've left, only that your absence will be an extended one. If you tell them, I will send a fleet to Gamilon and wipe out your precious remnant."

Masterson nodded slowly. "I'll leave immediately."

Invidia smiled again. "We will expect you. Here are the coordinates for our rendezvous point. And there is one more condition. You have three days. Don't be late."

"But that's a three-month journey without–"

"I'm sure you'll find a way."

The call ended.

Masterson knelt, his face in his hands as he whispered, "Adonai, grant us speed as we brave the Gates once more." He stood and headed for the door, his stomach in his throat. On his way to the hangar he drafted and sent instructions to all four council members on what to do in his absence. He apologized for his sudden departure but did not explain.

All four responses were immediate and filled with questions, especially his father's, but he dared not answer. He sent a generic reply saying he received urgent news requiring his immediate and indefinite attention.

 _I will return as soon as possible,_ was the last thing he sent to them before he boarded a hastily crewed ship an hour later and departed.

Once outside Gamilon's atmosphere, Masterson sat in the captain's quarters and hailed their twin-planet.

Queen Starsha answered. "Are you ready to send the first group to Iscandar?"

"No, Starsha," Masterson said. "Something… has happened." He sent Princess Invidia's footage to the Iscandari queen. "I received this two hours ago."

Ten seconds into the clip tears streamed from the queen's eyes and she whispered, "Yahweh is merciful; slow to anger and of great mercy. Blessed be the name of Yahweh Adonai, for His hand is mighty, and His victory sure. May the name of Shaddai be ever-praised!"

"I'm going to _Gatlantis_ ," said Masterson.

"What? No. You mustn't!"

"I have to." A flash of memory came, and he muttered words uttered to him nearly two years ago, "Though you walk through Sedom's gate…"

"Sedom's gate?"

"Adonai gave me a promise," Masterson said. "I go to the heart of the Cometine Empire, but I won't be alone."

"Do you have Theron with you?" Starsha said.

"I do." He glanced at the little plant Starsha gifted him three years ago. "And the new communications link we just finished is up and running."

"Relay to me all that happens," Starsha insisted.

"I'll do my best," he said. "Until we meet again, my friend."

* * *

An hour past midnight, Sabera dispersed the day's last war council and took her usual place at the practice range, one lane from the end at the darker end of the spread.

Sabera flung her silver blade. It thunked hilt-deep into the target, just above its heart. She threw another less than a second later. It split the target's nose in two. She aimed and hit hands and feet, then gut, groin, and neck.

She raised one more knife and flicked it. The blade flew true, but the instant before it hit, the knife spun away. Sabera looked in time to see Invidia tuck her weapon into a thigh holster and let her dress fall over it.

"Ambition is a two-edged sword, Sabera," said Invidia.

"One can wield power from any position they choose, little Princess. You should know that by now." Sabera flung her last knife and impaled the target's eye.

Invidia gave Sabera a narrow-eyed glare and left the target range.

When she couldn't hear the girl's footsteps anymore Sabera whispered, "Is it done?"

"He's on his way as we speak."

"Good. Zordar was a fool to enlist a has-been. This way, the Prince's hound will be too busy fighting his conscience to be a danger to us. Does Invidia suspect you?"

"No, Prime Minister."

"Keep it that way. Do whatever you must to keep her confidence."

"As you command. For the glory of the Empire."

"For the glory of the Empire."

* * *

 **Episode 6 Note:**

The name for Episode 6 was taken from Isaiah 36:5-6:

"I say, sayest thou, (but they are but vain words) I have counsel and strength for war: now on whom dost thou trust, that thou rebellest against me?

Lo, thou trustiest in the staff of **this broken reed** , on Egypt; whereon if a man lean, it will go into his hand, and pierce it: so is Pharaoh king of Egypt to all that trust in him.

 **Author's Note:**

This chapter came together much faster than anticipated, and was great to write, so enjoy the early post.

Next time, we head to another short story, "Home" featuring Dr. Sane and Mimi.

See you all next time,

*dtill359


	8. Episode 7: Ordained of Old

**Episode 7: Ordained of Old**

Sabera's steps echoed through the empty temple. She checked the time again. _Almost midnight._ The trio of assigned guards lined Gairen's door as a single lamp, mounted just above the frame head pushed back the darkness. "Wait outside."

The trio filed past but stopped at the temple entrance.

"Was I unclear?"

They scurried out. The tall door's clank echoed as Gairen's lamp flickered and died.

She tapped the node installed behind her ear. "Broadcast, off."

" _Broadcasting is disabled,"_ said the network A.I.

Sabera touched Gairen's locked door. The lamp sputtered on.

 _You remember, don't you, old man? You remember everything. Your hands didn't officiate the sacrifice that day, but the Warbringer grooms his priests, so you must know._

Muddled words bled through the walls. "Glory—fall. Old men and children. Death—comes." The priest moaned in his sleep and the sound haunted the halls.

Sabera passed further into the temple. The lamp flicked darkened before she moved five steps.

At the back of the main hall lay another, smaller room. One lamp glowed above the door, and a force field shimmered just inside the doorframe. On the wall beside the door hung a small, metal box, and inside it lay a tiny blanket, still warm, the deep green of an aged fir. On top of the blanket sat a little stuffed rhok-rhok bird. She petted the toy's head with one finger. _Never will I let it be in vain._

Sabera gave a short wave, and both door and force field opened.

Heat blasted into the cold temple, and purple flames crackled in a wide circle that occupied over half the room. A bed of coals covered the floor, and at the room's center stood a statue, bear-like, with the outreached hands of a man.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped to the floor with a sharp sizzle. Her boot soles warmed but didn't fail as she took the narrow stone path to the statue. The stud that topped her pointed ear throbbed. _Mil…_ Heat flushed her face as the ache, two years past, returned.

Sabera sank to her knees. Fresh blood still pooled like wine in the statue's hands. _How many more will you demand?_

The statue's dull, black eyes and bared teeth mocked her.

"I gave you _everything_ ," she hissed. "Grant me what Zordar beseeched you. Clear the way to Origin. Fell the Diviner." Sabera grasped the statue's bloodied hands. "The price I paid to see her defeated—I won't let her cheat me." Sabera let go. The heat baked dark blood into the skin of her hands. She raised a clenched fist. "Blood answers blood, Diviner. Every child given here—every man and woman gone mad because of you–When I hold your dead heart in my hand, justice will be satisfied."

Sabera spat into the coals. Their sharp sizzle filled the room as she left the bloodied altar. A short pedestal rose from the floor and opened to her. Blue light bathed the interior, and a thin shimmer of energy covered its top. She slipped her stained hands in and waited. A little chime signaled the end of the cleaning cycle and she removed pristine hands.

When she passed Gairen's door again, she said, "Broadcast, on."

" _Broadcasting is re-enabled."_

She slipped out the temple door. "Return to your posts," she instructed without looking at any of the sentries.

The three assigned to Gairen scrambled back inside, and the two stationed outside straightened.

Political blocks transitioned to residential as Sabera returned to her quarters. Almost home, a baby's cry stopped her. A rising, green sun marked the door. _Noble's house._ She skirted past, but the crying bit into her heart.

 _No, Diviner. You'll not mock our sacrifice, even if I must move every star in the heavens._

* * *

Shiori sat on a gurney in the _Argo'_ s infirmary as nurses made their rounds. Her dirty boots clanked against the metal frame and left scatters of Brumis soil on the floor. _Nice for a battleship._ New equipment whirred and blipped. _Better than some hospitals I've seen._

A woman came to Shiori's bed. "I'm Nova. I'll be your nurse today." She smiled. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Where's the Sarge? Is he okay?"

"He's all right. Just a few bumps and bruises." Nova's smile faded. "But there were a few others we… couldn't help."

Shiori's folded hands shook. "I know…"

"I just need to check a few things. Can you take off that jacket for me?" Nova pulled a curtain around them.

Shiori draped the drab green coat over her lap. A ring strung on a silver chain jingled, but she tucked it back inside her undershirt. "Really. I'm okay." She gave Nova a reassuring smile.

"We just need to be sure," said Nova as she logged Shiori's vitals. Nothing went amiss until she tested Shiori's left arm.

"Ow! Why's it so stiff?" Shiori groaned.

"There's a bruise the size of a dinner plate on your back." Nova touched the mark gently. "It'll heal but leave it alone as much as you can until the soreness eases. You can go now. The rest of the staff saw to everyone else."

"Thanks." Shiori threw her jacket back on. "Nova?"

"Yes?" the nurse stopped half-way through pulling open the curtain.

"You… want to have coffee or something sometime? I don't get to meet too many other women in this line of work. It'd be nice not to talk about food, cars and guns for once."

"Sure!" Nova smiled. She leaned close and whispered, "I have the same problem. You should be issued a comm soon since it looks like you're staying onboard for a while. You can find anyone's number in the contacts."

Shiori laughed. "We'll have a girls' night. Bring whoever else you can think of. Did I see you have a female pilot?"

"Two. Feria's been a good friend of mine for years, and Buddy just joined from Luna II. Then there're Miki and Erin who work the other two radar shifts on the bridge. And Penny here in the infirmary, but she's out sick today. There're others. I'm sure they'd love some time together too." Nova peeked outside. "Your unit's waiting," Nova said. "They all must love you very much."

Shiori slid off the gurney. "Why do you say that?"

"They all asked about you—even your commanding officer, Knox."

Shiori tucked a stray lock behind her ear and adjusted her ponytail. "Yeah… he's great. They all are."

"If there's ever anything you need that I can help with, just ask. It can't be easy living with a bunch of men in tight quarters for months on end."

"It's like having a dozen brothers… I lost everyone in the war, so they're my family now."

"I lost my father," said Nova. "Everyone on board lost someone—or everyone."

Shiori nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. _How many today…?_ "Some of us lost more than others…" She clasped both hands over her midsection. _Why didn't I just take the Lunar posting when they offered it to me? Before the radiation got so bad… Before…_ She steadied her lips' slight tremble.

Nova patted her shoulder. "Go let them know you're all right."

Shiori pushed back the curtain.

"Hey!" the rest of the unit chorused from the other side of the infirmary. They swarmed her and Saito clapped her shoulder.

"Ouch!" She glared at him. "You'll make my bruise worse."

Saito laughed heartily. "It's all right, kid. Everyone's got a few bruises. Kurata's got one bigger than a basketball on his hip."

Shiori winced. "At least we… made it out." She counted nine, including herself. _Gonzalez, Kirigawa… and West._ She bit her lip against the tears.

"Captain's agreed to let us stay and help. Don't know what this ship's getting into this time, but if it's anything like their last trip, they're going to need all the help they can get," Saito said.

Shiori swiped damp eyes and jabbed Knox in the ribs. "Dibs on bunking with Sarge."

* * *

Masterson paced his quarters. "How can I subject them to this again? The Gates' stability isn't what it was two years ago. Bad patches surface every day."

"Stop." David Lysis stepped in his path. "Just stop. I know you're terrified this is an elaborate hoax. I am too. You always do this—every chance you get, you overthink, worry. You've done it since the day I met you. Only difference is you've gotten better at hiding it, but there's that same look in your eyes. It was worst when you heard Desslok was dead. It's just as useless now as it was then."

"But, what if–"

"No. Adonai's hand is with us. If the Leader really is alive, we'll find out in three days at _Gatlantis_. Until then, worrying won't help."

Masterson passed David. "I have one last message to send before we take the first Gate."

"Right. I'll be on the bridge." David headed for the door as Masterson started his call.

Just before David left, a woman answered. "Masterson?" she said. "Where are you? What's happened?"

David stopped just outside the door. _Queen Starsha? Didn't know they were still in contact._

"We're about to make the first jump," Masterson said.

"The Gates?" The Queen's voice trembled. "After what happened last time?"

"There's no other way to make the Princess' deadline."

"Just… find him, Masterson. Bring him home."

"We will."

David furrowed his brows and continued toward the bridge. _She still cares… even after all this time._

* * *

Sabera scrambled out of bed, face in her hands. _Mil! Please, please, Mil, don't cry. Don't scream. Heilel demands this. Zord_ _ _–_ your father—accepted the price._ She grabbed a fresh bottle of wine from her bedside table and poured a full glass. She downed half in two gulps.

The phantom wails raked her mind. Wine dulled them but couldn't make the cries disappear. _I'm sorry._ Tears streamed down her cheeks. She balled part of the blanket and cradled it. _I never wanted to give you to them, but he insisted._

Sabera threw the blanket aside and took a small box from under the bed. She withdrew a long, thin stick, mounted it in an incense burner near the door and lit it. Thick purple smoke hazed the room, and Sabera took long, deep breaths.

The memories subsided, but still rang faint in the silence.

She stumbled toward the bed, but the world tipped, and she sank to the floor. Every breath of stardust stung. _Best quality,_ she scoffed. _I could make a purer batch myself if we had a mine close enough._ She gulped full breaths of the purple smoke and exhaled clouds of pink. They floated crookedly and sparked in five shades of fuscia. Sabera laughed at the light display.

A silhouette formed in the smoke. She grabbed for it, but the phantom vanished.

"Stop lying to me!" she growled into the dark haze. _This is your fault, Diviner! First you drove Father and Mother mad with your legends of power. Then, you secreted away while the universe crumbled around you, but now—now I'll find you and take that power. Make it mine and avenge the death of the son I bore Zordar._

As the haze thickened, she crawled to the couch and lay face-up. Images formed in the smoke, most unfamiliar, but one she recognized. _I'm coming for you, Trelaina. Then I'll take Origin, and not even you can stop me._

* * *

"The guys already know." Shiori protested as she and Saito ducked into a storage area. "Why the secrecy?" She touched the X-shaped scar on his cheek.

Saito took her hand. "It's in the records if anyone really wants to know."

"And stop calling me, 'kid.' You're two years older than me, not twenty. Plus, I'm far older than most of this ship's crew."

A comfortable silence fell.

"Let them see you as the great soldier you are, Shiori." Saito brushed the beauty mark on her chin. "That's why I love you."

"All right… but for the record, I hate sleeping in separate bunks. I'm not doing it."

Saito mussed her hair.

"Hey!"

"Get back to the room and get to sleep. It's late."

"I _was_ asleep until you dragged me out here to talk about nothing."

He grinned.

"Oh, go stick your head in a fountain." She socked his arm.

Saito chuckled as he left first.

 _That man._ Shiori shook her head and pulled out the silver ring strung around her neck. _Five years, and you're still the same Saito I married._

Ten minutes later, she started back toward their assigned quarters. Half-way back footsteps echoed up ahead. Shiori froze. _Am I supposed to be out this late since I'm not on shift? I don't see anybody else. What're ship regs? I haven't read up yet._ She turned the nearest corner and waited.

Three seconds. Someone passed. He was tall, much taller than her, and his dark hair and eyes seemed… odd, like they didn't match the rest of his face.

 _Isn't that one of the pilots?_

He stopped and looked around. Shiori ducked farther down the hall, out of sight. _What's he doing out this late? He's not in uniform._ She followed him in silence as the pilot descended several decks until he reached the third bridge.

The science team still worked, led by the XO.

Feldmann entered, and Shiori lost track of him for several minutes, but then he stepped out again, hands in his pockets. She held her breath as he passed. _Must've needed some air. Or wanted to ask something. Can't let him see me. Talk about awkward._

He didn't notice her, and Shiori waited until he was out of sight to start the hike back.

Saito was already snoring when she arrived, so she tucked in next to him. The faces of the three they lost on Brumis stayed with her as she fell asleep.

* * *

Invidia approached the renovated guest suite.

"We have orders not to admit anyone, Princess," said one sentry, weapon still holstered.

"Orders from who?"

"Him." The second guard pointed over his shoulder to the closed door.

"The wishes of your Princess supersede a has-been's." Invidia pushed past the men.

"He asked not to be disturbed–"

"I don't care." Invidia shoved open the door and stepped in. Neither sentry followed her.

Inside, low light filled the suite, and shades of green and blue greeted her instead of _Gatlantis'_ usual fare of black and red. On one wall shimmered a mural—a digital reproduction.

Invidia frowned at the image. A woman, beautiful, with long, red-blonde hair flowing into space reached out to a blue-skinned man who wore a sword and crown. _You threw away a chance at power. All for something you can never have. I've heard the tales, foolish queen—how you helped the Originals, stopped the push to take Origin. It could have been_ yours _. What kind of fool ignores an opportunity like that?_

With an indignant huff, she ran a finger through the woman's face. The image blurred, then righted. _But you passed an opportunity to have more than Origin, didn't you? You remain kingless. I won't make the same mistake._

She left the image and swept from one end of the suite to the other. Without ceremony, she shoved open the bedroom door.

The room's single occupant sat on the bed, one foot, still boot-clad even this long after midnight, propped atop the opposite knee. An image of the woman from the painting hovered, projected from a tiny device that lay in his hand. An old scar traced from a crooked collarbone to a straight one, and multiple marks from the _Gatlantean_ physicians' efforts peppered his chest and abdomen. In the image's soft light, his blue skin almost glowed.

"Were the sentries unclear?" He closed the image and pocketed the device. The lights rose enough to see by.

"Gairen revealed another vision." Invidia stood in front of him, arms crossed, hip cocked.

"And?" He stood and brushed past her. The smell of _Gatlantis_ ' best liquor tinted his breath.

"I thought you'd be interested to know he mentioned the Diviner."

"He always does."

"A ship sails with her."

He approached an image of an alien battleship. It flickered as he drew near. "Eratites?" Tension rippled the scar tracing his back from shoulder to hip.

"We don't know. It could be anyone. The only image of it exists in Gairen's mind." Invidia slipped in front of him again. The ship's image stuttered as her hair whisked through it. "You need a distraction from this obsession. Every day you speak of the Originals, how they kept you from helping your people—and killed so many. None of us expected your revival, Father least of all."

Ghosts haunted the man's eyes. He looked away.

Invidia reached to touch his face, but he grabbed her hand, and his eyes flashed brilliant green.

"You may have had success with others here, Princess. But I am no so easily won by the attentions of a child who pretends to be a woman."

Invidia jerked her hand from his grip and returned his glare.

"Leave," he ordered, and pointed to the door. "Don't come back until you've something of value to say."

"Fine," Invidia sneered. "Wallow in self-pity all you like, Desslok. But _she_ will never choose you—especially not now." Invidia leaned closer. The heels she wore thrust her inches from his face and she whispered in his ear, "I can offer you a throne to replace the one you lost."

"Get _out_!"

Invidia leapt back as Desslok grabbed an empty decanter and threw it at her. The thick glass shattered against the wall, but the gleam of anger in his eyes warned her not to test his aim again. "Come see me when you decide to take my offer." She left the bedroom door ajar and marched through the suite. _What recourse does he have? Nothing. I may not be an Iscandari queen, but I can offer far more than she ever could._

"Princess, are you all right? We heard a crash." The sentries met her half-way through the suite.

"I'm fine." She waved them off.

"I told you not to come in here." Desslok growled from the bedroom door. "Or does my speech not adhere to your _exacting_ standards?"

Both guards hurried out after Invidia.

She stopped outside the closed entrance. _This isn't over, Desslok. Not by far._

* * *

The first Gate loomed, a glittering ring of blue and white hung in the stars.

"Network's ready." David stepped alongside Masterson as he stood at the back of _Hadar'_ s bridge.

"Let's go." Masterson began a ship-wide broadcast. "All crew prepare for a twelve-hour Gate jump. If anyone needs tranquilizers for the trip and hasn't received them yet, please go to the medical bay before the start of the jump. We enter the network at risk, but we go to find an answer so important it could reshape Gamilon. This jump is the first, and longest of seven. A ship-wide notification will broadcast fifteen minutes before each jump. Adonai, go with us." He ended the broadcast.

David leaned close. "Is this a good idea? We don't know if–"

"He's there. He has to be." Masterson pulled out a tiny silver disk, something from his days as a rebel fighting at Desslok's side. A faint green light pulsed in even, if quick bursts. _I didn't want to believe it, lest I deceive myself with false hope, but now…_ He gripped the disk. _Now I know. Thank Adonai, you're alive._

* * *

 **Episode 7 Notes:**

The title for this episode is taken from Isaiah 30:33

For Tophet is **ordained of old** ; yea, for the king it is prepared; he hath made it deep and large: the pile thereof is fire and much wood; the breath of the LORD, like a stream of brimstone, doth kindle it.

 **Author's note:**

So glad to be back here after much too long. Hope everyone enjoys this post.

Next time, we're heading over to the second-to-last entry in _Tales,_ "Healing" featuring Alex Wildstar.

Until next time,

*dtill359


	9. Episode 8: Ask Thee a Sign

**Episode 8: Ask Thee a Sign**

Derek paced his small quarters. The astro compass' light flooded his mind's eye. If he hadn't known the exact distance from bed to desk to closet to door, he'd have hit something. He softly muttered as he brushed past Starsha's plant for the twentieth time. "Three days we've been going this way. Three days… of nothing." He stopped at his desk. _Just empty space. Not even a sign of the enemy._

In three steps he crossed the room and punched his thin mattress with all the frustration and anxiety of the past three days. "What are we doing out here?" he said to the plant, which rustled beside the door. "Why did I drag everyone into space just to chase ghosts?" He sighed and slumped onto the mattress. The dent he'd made poofed out the moment he sat.

The gray blanket lay crumpled to one side of his pillow, right where he'd left it hours ago when sleep refused to relieve him. He grabbed the blanket. Its plain material warmed his hands as the cool cabin air sent a shiver down his bare calves and forearms. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. It scratched his neck and arms just enough to betray its cheapness. _They spent so much rebuilding this ship they had to scrimp on something, I suppose. Guess now I remember why most people brought blankets from home. Wish I had too…_

He closed his eyes and envisioned his little EDF-issued apartment, stuffed in the mid-levels of a newly built housing area aboveground. His chair near the window always promised a good nap, or at least comfortable sleeplessness while he surfed the public broadcasts or found an entertaining net channel.

He hadn't been home in months, and now, just as he'd gotten back, something else dragged him away again. _Guess it's good I never got a dog. Poor thing wouldn't recognize me._ A chill swept over him and he pulled the blanket closer and folded legs and socked feet onto the bed. _Who set the environmental controls for this block?_ He checked the settings on his comm. _Normal. Am I getting sick?_ He tested his forehead. _Because that's_ all _I need right now._ He went down the list of usual symptoms. No scratchy throat. No congestion or cough. No nausea—well, a _little_ nausea, and a headache, but that was from stress. _Not sick. Maybe we've got extra blankets in storage. I'll grab one tomorrow._

As he curled up in his bunk, the lights lowered. But even with the blanket wrapped tightly around him, Derek couldn't sleep. The cold persisted. He sat up again. "Is it too much to ask for a good night's rest on this trip?" he growled into the dim room.

The Iscandarian plant beside the door rustled again.

"Not you too," Derek muttered. "Didn't Starsha ever tell you it's rude to wake people up for no reason?"

A knock startled Derek. He shot out of bed and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Come in." The lights rose. He kept the blanket on.

Dathan Feldmann, still in his pilot's uniform, entered. "Captain… Wildstar?" He noted the blanket and sock-feet. "Perhaps I should come back later." Dathan started to leave.

"No. No. It's fine." Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose as his headache throbbed again. "What brings you here so late?"

Dathan passed the Iscandarian plant without touching it. The door hissed shut. In the quiet, it sounded like a nest of angry bees. Feldmann stood near the bunk, opposite Derek's desk where a picture of Derek and Nova during the journey to Iscandar sat prominent. "I… I've been out here once—during the past year." Dathan crammed his hands into his pockets and shifted uncomfortably.

Derek took the desk chair and picked up the picture of him and Nova. "Good. We could use any information we can g –"

"You shouldn't go through here." Fear cut Dathan's words like a saber through paper.

Derek set the picture down. "There's nothing on the survey maps Commander Singleton sent."

"You don't understand, Captain. We barely got out alive. We had no time to chart anything, but I remember the coordinates like they're my own name." Dathan took out his comm and showed Derek a half dozen images—some no more than terror-riddled blurs. "Before it caught us, we sent in a probe—just for a moment. This place—it's a death yard—filled with ships who got in… but couldn't get back out." Dathan shuddered and retreated toward the bunk again. "We lost the probe."

"Send me those pictures," Derek said.

"Done." Dathan shared the images with Derek.

The first picture, a deep, dark smear rubbed out a cluster of stars and blanketed most of the image in blackness. Derek pulled the blanket a little tighter. "Thank you. Please, give this and any other information you have to Sandor and Eager—and the radar team. I'm afraid the only one likely to be up at this hour is Sandor—down in his lab, so you'll have to send the information via comm."

"I'll notify the night crew on the bridge and give the officers the same information in the morning."

Derek nodded. "Thank you again. I'm glad you let me know."

Dathan approached the door but stopped just short of the Iscandari plant. "Captain?"

"Call me Derek. I can't get used to people calling me Captain when I'm off the bridge—or when I'm on it either. Captain Avatar will always be this ship's captain in my mind."

"I—I understand wanting to live up to someone else's idea of who you should be. My… father always expected certain things of me—things I could never accomplish the way he wanted me to. Even the woman I wanted to marry wouldn't have me because I wasn't who she wanted me to be." Dathan extended an index finger toward the plant but didn't touch it. The leaves rustled. "Don't let anyone make you into someone you're not."

"I'll remember that."

As Dathan left, Derek picked up the image of himself and Nova again. _I can't be like you, Nova. I can't. You'll have to have enough faith for the both of us._

* * *

Two hours later Derek woke to an alarm. He discovered he'd fallen asleep slumped in the desk chair, but the ache in his back and neck faded as urgency pressed. In half a minute he threw on his uniform and rushed out of his quarters. Five minutes later, he stumbled onto the bridge. The night crew still manned their posts. The only officer present other than Derek was Sandor who leaned over the night tech's shoulder and pointed at the duty station's screen.

"Report!" Derek slipped into the captain's chair.

"We're caught in a subspace eddy," said Sandor.

"Vasquez, pull us out," Derek directed the on-shift navigator.

"Trying, Sir, but the pull—she's too strong for our little miss here. It's sucking us in like a moth in a vacuum!" Vasquez grunted as he pulled on the control yolk, but the _Argo_ only sank further into the eddy.

"Engine room, we need more power," Derek said over the comm.

"She's givin' all she's got," said Orion—already down in the engine room helping the night shift finish some upgrades.

The ship strained so hard Derek thought every deck plate would separate. Until a low creak jerked the ship to port.

"It's another one!" Sandor shoved the science tech out of his seat. "A second eddy!"

"We're spinning, Captain," said Vasquez. "I can't even keep her straight now."

Mark, followed closely by Dathan, burst onto the bridge and rushed to help Vasquez. He took one side of the yolk while Vasquez took the other, but no matter how they strained and pulled, the _Argo_ kept sinking further into the grasp of the twin eddies.

After fifteen minutes of struggle, the engines, tired of fighting, died.

They drifted fast, almost like a toy boat dropped into white water.

Derek's stomach leapt as they spun and fishtailed, spun again, and stopped, as though they'd reached a quiet pool at the end of a long river. "Damage report?"

"Engine output's minimal," Orion reported from engineering. "But she's recovering slowly. Should have full power back in a few hours.

"Sandor?"

"Minimal damage reports—mostly improperly anchored equipment. A few scrapes and bruises, and one possible concussion, but nothing too serious."

Nova came to replace Erin Watts at the radar station, but Watts stayed to help. "There's debris all over the radar," said Nova. "From the composition…" she switched to the Iscandari enhancement, "they're ship hulls—two are… Gamilon… and several have a Gatlantean tag—like the ones we met at _Shambleau_ last year. One, the radar's spitting gibberish about, and the other is… It's from Earth!" She checked the registry. "It's a science ship— _Olympia_."

"Feldmann." Derek turned to the pilot who still stood near the back of the bridge, frozen like an ice shard on a lamppost. Dathan's eyes fixed on the main viewscreen.

"Captain?" Dathan's attention snapped to Derek.

"You said you'd been out here. What do you know about the _Olympia_?"

Dathan's eyes roamed back to the viewscreen, an endless sea of black, dotted with pieces of wreckage. "It… fell into the eddy… into the place I told you about. It… never came out. That's the reason we were out here. My ship, _Alexandria_ , came to rescue them, but when our engines sputtered and the current almost swallowed us too, we… we… gave up."

Fear ate Derek's gut, and he reviewed the information Dathan gave the bridge crew a few hours ago. _But these aren't the coordinates he logged. We're at least five light years from there._ "How many in _Olympia_ 's crew?"

"Thirty-seven," said Dathan, head low. "We marked them all lost twelve months ago… It's been… almost eighteen months since we tried to rescue them… But this place—it—it shouldn't be here. It should be much further away." Dathan muttered something like a curse, but Derek couldn't decipher it. "It must have drifted. How did it move so quickly?"

Derek beckoned Dathan to the captain's post. Feldmann came, but stopped two feet away. Derek motioned him closer.

"You didn't mention another ship last night," Derek whispered when Dathan was finally near enough.

"I… didn't think it relevant. We sent the probe in to find out if they were… still alive."

"And?"

"Not a trace. The probe couldn't get any readings. The only data we have are those pictures I gave you. Surely you can't think anyone's _alive_ out there."

Nova shifted the viewscreen to show the _Olympia_.

Dathan's eyes darted to the radar station. He took a step back. "I'd heard tales of this ship's… unique systems, but I had no idea it possessed alien enhancements to the radar." He indicated the Iscandarian add-on. "Does that tell you if there's anyone over there?"

"No," Sandor answered for Derek. "We still have limitations, and the radar doesn't seem to be able to cut through whatever interference is stifling this place. We have no idea if anyone's alive anywhere inside here."

"But you pulled up registry—" Dathan began.

"Registry information and detecting life signs are two different things." Sandor didn't look up from his station.

"Get aboard that ship, Sandor. Take—"

"Take me," said Dathan.

Everyone, including Derek, stared at Dathan.

"All right…" said Derek. "Sandor? Is that all right with you?"

"Fine. You can come along." Sandor surrendered the station to the night tech again.

"Thank you," said Dathan. " _Alexandria_ is the same class as _Olympia_. I can get around her without trouble. And, if anyone survived against these odds, I want to be among the first to help them escape this nightmare."

Derek nodded. "Bring back anything useful."

* * *

Sandor outfitted and crewed the _Seagull_ with two science team members. He docked the scout ship at _Olympia's_ boarding airlock. Once inside, a green light blinked on Sandor's in-helmet HUD. "Air's breathable," he said as he removed his helmet and took a deep breath. _Little stale, but not awful._ He left the helmet off.

The two science team members removed their helmets too. Feldmann left his on.

They searched every hall and room, starting with the stern and working toward the bow. Twenty minutes into their search, they reached the crew quarters. The rearmost room was empty, though its occupant's belongings still stuffed a small footlocker, and a few things littered the floor. The second and third rooms were the same.

Near the front of the crew quarters, Sandor stopped. _Singing? Did someone leave their computer on all these months?_ He approached a room numbered ten. A rich, low bass reached through the door.

"Deep river,

My home is over Jordan.

Deep river, Lord.

I want to cross over into campground."

 _I haven't heard that in… a long time._ Sandor leaned a little closer to the closed door. Without warning, it opened, and Sandor almost stumbled into the room.

A young man, skin the color of deep walnut, sat cross-legged, an old book laid open across one leg. The heading at the top of the page read, Isaiah 7. Eyes shut, head bowed, the young man's only reaction to Sandor's single, heavy footfall was, "Lord, I know I'm hearin' things again. This place does a number on my wits."

He still wore his uniform. On the shoulder patch, his name shone in white thread, T. Alori. Green markings indicated his specialty—navigation—or maybe stellar cartography. His Lieutenant's rank rested just below his name patch.

 _What might he be now if he hadn't been waylaid here? And how is he still alive when we've found no one else aboard?_

Lt. Alori wore his dark, kinky hair close-shaven. He'd maintained it in the months since _Olympia's_ disappearance. Though a bit bony—probably due to ration conservation—he wasn't malnourished or otherwise unhealthy looking.

A small box, half-filled with emergency rations, sat open at the end of his neat bunk. The blanket, spread over his mattress, wore no wrinkles, and a smooth, cased pillow rested at a perfect twenty-degree angle. An open food wrapper lay discarded next to the oblivious Lieutenant as he kept humming his song.

"Your wits are intact," said Sandor as he took another step into the room but motioned for everyone else to hang back. _He's not much older than Wildstar._

Alori's eyes flew open. "Marcy!" He sprang to his feet, careful to keep the Bible from hitting the floor. He quickly laid it on the bunk and raised both hands, ready to defend himself, but the instant he noticed the insignia on Sandor's EVA suit, he relaxed. "I thought you'd never come." He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. "A welcome face, my friend. Welcome, indeed!" He extended a hand to Sandor who took it and gave the long-lost officer a firm shake.

"I assure you, we arrived by accident," Sandor said when Alori released his hand.

Alori shook his head. "No accidents in this world, my brotha." He grinned so wide he almost forced his eyes closed. "What ship's broken through death and saved me?"

"The _Argo_ ," Sandor said.

" _Argo_?" Alori looked surprised. "The one and same that took the quest last year?"

"It's been a lot longer than that," said Sandor.

"Course, course," Alori nodded. "Stuck way too long. Let's get out of here." He gathered his Bible and few other possessions into a small bag and then started to pass Sandor. When he spied Dathan, he stopped, but he made no comment before passing both other science team members.

* * *

"Tim!" Mark rushed forward when Alori disembarked in the _Seagull's_ tiny side hangar. Artificial gravity was on to keep the small crowd from clogging every corner of the room.

"Marcus Venture," Timothy clapped Mark's shoulder. "Never thought I'd see you again—never thought I'd seen much of anyone again—least, not this side a the river. How's that little brother a yours?"

"Jordy's great. I'm sure your mom and little sister will be thrilled to get the news. How are you? I mean, you're alive! How'd you survive?" Mark ushered Timothy through the gathered crowd. "Everyone else on the _Olympia_ is…"

Timothy's face fell. "The Lord gave me grace, Marcus. Everyone else—somethin' took em—while they slept. Some died in a collision with another ship, but the rest—they either fell sick or went mad. And I couldn't help them all. Tried my best, but I'm no medic." His face was grim. "Shawna was the last to go… she tossed and turned, begged to die. Kept screamin' and screamin'." Timothy covered his ears. "Horrible, Marcus—worse than the ones who died in the bombings."

"You did everything you could," said Mark as he managed to squeeze past the last few people near the hangar door. "No one can ask any more than that. I'm sure _Argo_ will pull _Olympia_ 's records and computer data."

"So, you've found a way outta here?" Timothy brightened.

"No… afraid not…"

"I see…" Timothy elbowed Mark and tried to smile again. "I thought better of you, Marcus. Gettin' into a place ya can't get out of. Mama taught me better, but I got stuck here, anyway. Couldn't pull the engines outta their slump. Everything works, she just won't go. Engineer couldn't figure it out…. Died in engineering…"

With a subtle nod to Sandor, Mark led Timothy from the hangar to his own quarters. "You can sleep in here if you want. Mine's the lower bunk, but I'll sleep up top if you don't want to climb."

"Sleep?" Timothy snorted. "I've slept enough. Take me to the bridge. Maybe I can help with whatever escape efforts your captain has brewin'."

Mark nodded and took his old classmate to the bridge.

The moment Timothy saw Nova he grinned. "'Lo there, little sister," he nodded.

Mark knit puzzled brows, but Timothy waved him off as Nova returned his smile.

"Wildstar," Mark brought Timothy to the captain's station, "this is Lieutenant Alori—chief navigator of the _Olympia..._ and the only survivor."

Derek shook Timothy's hand. "Good to have you aboard."

"Good to be here, Captain. Good to be anywhere."

"We're pulling all the information about this place as we can from _Olympia_ 's computer, but nothing's coming up as a potential escape route. I'm sorry, but we may be stuck in here a bit longer."

Dathan stepped onto the bridge, but hovered near Dash's station, just out of Timothy's line of sight.

"If you'll allow it, Captain, I'd like to help however I can," said Timothy.

"Stay as long as you like." Derek gestured to Mark's station. "See what you can do for Venture and Eager."

Timothy nodded and followed Mark to the navigator's station.

* * *

Hours crawled by with no results. Midnight passed and almost everyone began to droop; but Mark and Timothy still talked quietly at the navigator's station.

"Ah, so _that's_ why ya'll are out here, is it? What kind of enemy does that—just chops off all the power to a whole planet?" Timothy, who was borrowing Derek's station chair, leaned forward, hands clasped and shook his head. "Lord, get these good people outta here. They've got lotsa work to do."

Mark didn't comment on Timothy's sudden shift, but when the bridge brightened, he swung his chair around and froze. The astro-compass, once dull and silent, glowed again, just as it had a few days ago. It pulsed like a smoldering ember just blown to life by an autumn wind.

A heading.

All eyes shot to the compass, and Dash and Homer stood up out of their chairs. Dathan, still perched near Dash looked like he'd just seen his dead great-aunt play the "Hallelujah Chorus" on a kazoo.

"Venture, take that course," said Derek.

Mark silently nodded and laid in the heading, too shocked to offer even a relieved sigh.

Timothy nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Lord."

 _Argo_ turned to port and edged through the void, past _Olympia_ and the wrecked hulk of several much older ships, some much bigger than the _Argo_. Tiny fighters and gigantic freighters towered in the blackness like monsters lurking the ocean depths, not quite sure if they wanted to move or remain asleep in their comfortable dens.

As they drifted further along the line laid out by the compass, Mark pushed the _Argo_ passed a small ship that looked something like a cross between a beached whale and a knot of angry porcupines. Its bulk jutted with spikes and spires, looking altogether unlikable.

Just as they pulled even with the ugly hulk, Nova exclaimed, "It's moving! Captain! That ship's moving!"

"Mark, get us out of here as fast as you can!"

"I'm trying, Wildstar!" Mark pushed the ship as hard as he could, but the _Argo_ remained stubbornly, unnervingly, at one-eighth impulse.

* * *

 **Episode 8 Notes:**

The title for Episode 8 was taken from Isaiah 7:10-11

"Moreover the LORD spake again unto Ahaz, saying, **Ask thee a sign** of the LORD thy God; ask it either in the depth, or in the height above."

 **Author's Note:**

Finally! After a month or so of an unexpected health problem, I've finally got some of my energy back. Hope everyone enjoys the post.

Next time, we'll get to see either a new piece post for a contest, or we'll be able to finally finish Tales up with a Shiori Nagakura tale—"Project."

Until then,

Happy reading and writing,

dtill359


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